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TEbe Hake Sndlieb Classice 

EDITED BY 

LINDSAY TODD DAMON, A.B. 

Imtnietor in English in The University of Chioacc. 


^Tbe Xafte lenglisb Clasaics 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS 

A NARRATIVE OF 1757 


BY y 

JAMES FENIMORE COOPER 

“ Mislike me not for my complexion, 

The shadowed livery of the burnished sun." 


EDITED FOR SCHOOL USE 
BY 

EDWIN HERBERT LEWIS, Ph.D. 

ASSOCIATE PKOPESSOR IN LEWIS INSTITUTE 


CHICAGO 

SCOTT, FORESMAN AND COMPANY 
1399 , 


TX3 


30656 


Copyright 1899, 

By SCOTT, FORESMAN AND COMPANY 


Two 


COPi 




I mis 1899 ll 


' v rf r 


TS\ SA-b ^ 


PREFACE. 


The most fitting place in the high school curriculum 
for Cooper^s fiction is the first year; but every healthy 
boy and girl will be glad that the uniform require- 
ments necessitate a review of the Last of the Mohicans 
in the year before entering college. In preparing 
editorial matter I have tried to keep both these facts 
in view, inserting only what the younger student can 
grasp and the older cannot afford to neglect. I have 
wished the student to appreciate Cooper less as an 
historian, a geographer, and an ethnologist, than as a 
man, a literary pioneer, a delineator of self-reliant 
character, and a master of vivid narrative. Questions 
of rhetoric are raised only when the student really 
needs to note Cooper^s carelessness. No changes have 
been made in the text except in a few matters of 
pointing. In spite of lapses. Cooper had his own 
notions of punctuation. He frequently depends on 
the comma to cover up logical incoherence. He uses 
the semi-colon to lend pomp to the movement of his 
periods, or to suggest intervals in the dialogue or the 
action. If I have occasionally changed a semi-colon 
to a comma before a dependent clause, I have refrained 
wherever such a change would clash with what seemed 
the deliberate preference of the author. For the map 
on page 6 I am indebted to my colleague. Professor 
H. B. Kiimmel. 

E. H. L. 


Chicago, January, 1899. 




COOPER’S LIFE AND WORK 


The first American to write prose fiction of any artistic 
value was a young Philadelphian, Charles Brockden Browne. 
At the beginning of our century this invalid youth was 
producing unwholesome tales of mystery and terror. A 
little later New York City sprang into literary prominence 
through the work of a young man named Washington 
Irving, who united high literary skill with a delicate sense 
of humor. The next American romancer, James Feni- 
more Cooper, came neither from Philadelphia nor New York 
City, nor yet from Boston — a place which as yet had no 
literature beyond brilliant sermons and theological trea- 
tises — but from the wilderness of central New York. 

Cooper was born in New Jersey in 1789, the year of 
Washington’s first inauguration, and of the French Revolu- 
tion. He was taken in babyhood to Otsego county. New 
York. Here, at Cooperstown, on the shore of Otsego Lake, 
he spent his boyhood and his later manhood, and here, in 
1851, he died. His father, who became a judge and a member 
of Congress, had secured a large grant of forest land around 
the headwaters of the Susquehanna. He made this land 
habitable, lived on it all his life, and bequeathed it to his 
children. Cooper’s boyhood, it will be seen, was passed in 
the woods. Here he not only grew lusty and strong, but 
stored his mind with healthful pictures of sky and woods 
and waters. 

Running wild about Cooperstown, the boy was for- 
tunately exempt from long hours in the classroom, 
and when he did begin to study had become physically fit 
for hard work. He was then sent to Albany to be tutored. 
At thirteen he was ready for the Yale of those days, and 
went into residence at New Haven. But wilderness habits 
were upon him. He played truant, defied authority, and 
finally was expelled. Judge Cooper put his irresponsible 

7 


8 


COOPER’S LIFE AND WORK. 


boy before the mast on a merchant ship, and gave him a 
taste of the rough side of life. Fenimore learned his 
lesson, took to serious work, and at eighteen was made 
midshipman in the navy. A war-cloud was in the sky. 
Cooper was soon sent to Lake Ontario, where, in 1808, he 
helped to build a brig of war. 

Thus by twenty-one he had seen a good deal of active life. 
He then married, left the navy, and settled at Cooperstown, 
with nothing to do but leisurely pursue his farming. His 
young wife must have known well both his talents and his 
impulsive nature; for one day when Cooper flung down an 
English society novel, with the remark that he could do bet- 
ter himself, she dared him to try. Cooper would not be 
dared. He set to work, and soon turned out what he thought 
his countrymen would like — a novel dealing, in a highly 
moral way, with lords and ladies. He called it Precaution^ 
because the theme of it was a warning to young ladies to 
have a care in choosing husbands. 

Like other persons who write on subjects of which they 
know nothing, Cooper produced an insipid book. Then 
some wise friend began to upbraid him for neglecting the 
abundant material available for romantic stories of 
American life. Cooper responded, in 1821, with The 
Spy, a tale of the Revolution. For this he invented the 
daring Harvey Birch, who, always performing mysterious 
and thrilling exploits in aid of General Washington, gives 
the book its name and its character. The Spy was more 
than successful; it took the country by storm. 

Between this time and his death Cooper produced thirty- 
one stories, most of them strong in places, but weak 
as wholes. Success was somewhat a matter of luck with 
him, for he had never studied closely the means by which 
artistic results are secured. Nevertheless he showed Amer- 
ica how to write tales of adventure, and he interested the, 
world in the pioneer and the Indian. Scores of authors, 
from eminent men like William Gilmore Simms to the 
nameless writers of dime novels, have learned their method 
from Cooper. 

Hardly had The Spy attained popularity, when it was 


COOPER’S LIFE AND WORK. 


9 


followed by a remarkable sea-story, The Pilot (1823). At 
a dinner Cooper had listened to excessive praise of Scott’s 
Pirate^ which every one was then reading, though its au- 
thorship was not yet, disclosed. Cooper maintained against 
his friends that this sea-story, admittedly a fine one, was 
the work of a landsman. Then he set to work to make good 
his declaration that a seaman could write a more faithful 
romance of salt water. He not only succeeded in this in- 
tent, displaying the greatest technical accuracy in nautical 
affairs, but he also made a notable addition to his crea- 
tions, in the figure of Long Tom Cofiin, the gunner who so 
calmly awaited his death by shipwreck. 

The fact that he had lived his boyhood in the wilderness 
was to prove of even greater service to the new novelist 
than his sea experiences had proved. His mind was full 
of reminiscences of scouts, Indians, and soldiers. Out of his 
memories he gradually spun a series of five stories, center- 
ing about the character of a scout. He began, in 1823, with 
a tale of pioneer life in the Otsego county of his childhood. 
The scout, Nathaniel Bumppo. was not intended as the cen- 
tral figure of this story, but he roused great interest among 
Cooper’s readers. The author took the hint, and wrote an- 
other book, portraying the scout as a man of middle life, 
fighting the hated Hurons in company with his Delaware 
friends, Chingachgook and Uncas. The next year (1827), 
Cooper wrote a story which pictured the last days of the 
scout. Long afterward (1840-41) he was moved to add two 
more novels to the series, the one picturing the youth of 
his hero, the other a second period of his middle life. 

The Leatherstocking series should be read, not in the 
order of composition, but in the order of Natty Bumppo’s 
life: the adventures first of his youth; then of a later pe- 
riod, about Lake George; then of his middle life about Lake 
Ontario; then of his still later life about Otsego Lake; and, 
finally, of his last days, beyond the Mississippi. Arranged 
in this order, which is alphabetical, the titles of the 
series are: The Deerslayei\ The Last of the Mohicans, 

The Pathfinder, The Pioneer, and The Prairie. In four of 
the books the scout is known by his successive Indian 


10 


COOPER’S LIFE AND WORK. 


names, — Deerslayer, Hawkeye, Pathfinder, and Leather- 
stocking. In The Prairie he is usually spoken of as “the 
trapper.” 

The action of the five novels covers a period of more than 
half a century, and shows how the Indian was ever driven 
west by the approaching steps of civilization. In 1740 
central New York was an unmapped wilderness through 
which the young Deerslayer wandered with his Delaware 
friends. Between 1740 and 1803 the English won the land 
from the French, and the Americans won it from the Eng- 
lish. In 1803 New York was a rough farming country, and 
the old Leatherstocking was moving to the far west, with 
the emigrants who were attracted by the lands just pur- 
chased by our government. 

Leatherstocking is an American contribution to the list 
of the world’s imaginary heroes. Cooper said that his 
idea was to delineate “a character that possessed little of 
civilization but its highest principles as they are exhibited 
in the uneducated, and all of savage life that is not incom- 
patible with these great rules of conduct.” Such an at- 
tempt had never been made by any writer. 

The Leatherstocking tales show Cooper at his best. Many 
of his other stories were unfortunately intended to incul- 
cate some pet doctrine of the author. When he was abroad, 
from 1826 to 1833, Cooper wrote several stories satirizing 
the defects of aristocratic government. On his return to 
America he was astonished at the rawness of the country. 
He had preached democracy abroad, but he had always 
hated moneymaking, and he was disgusted now to find 
that democracy seemed to mean a scramble for dollars. He 
turned to administer improving criticism to his compatriots. 
The newspapers not only condemned the new novels that 
Cooper used as his vehicle of rebuke, but abused the au- 
thor personally. Cooper surprised them by bringing and 
winping libel suits. But public opinion had turned against 
him. His fellow countrymen were not quick to forget the 
harsh and biting way in which Cooper told them whole- 
some truth. 

At Cooperstown, too, he fell into trouble over his rights. 


COOPER’S LIFE AND WORK. 


11 


He quarreled with his neighbors about a bit of his lake- 
front that they had all been using for a picnic ground. 
Though he was proved legally in the right, his success 
cost him heavily in good-will. He felt the loss. Cooper 
. was a good fighter, but he had a sensitiveness which his 
critics delighted to torture. Mr. Donald G. Mitchell likens 
him to a soft-shell crab, — always a greater delicacy than a 
hard-shell.^ 

Yet personally he had many fine qualities. His bad tem- 
per seems never to have penetrated into his home-life. He 
was devoted to his noble wife till his death, only four 
months before hers. That he was eminently honest, fear- 
less, and manly, and that his nature was not without its 
lovable side, is revealed in many places throughout his 
works. 

SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY. 

Cooper wrote no novel which deserves the close reading 
that may be given to the great masterpieces of prose fic- 
tion, like Cervantes’ Don Quixote, Scott’s Ouy Mannering, 
Thackeray’s Henry Esmond, and Hawthorne’s The Scarlet 
Letter. Some of these reveal so deep a knowledge of 
human nature that only a mature student of life can ap- 
preciate them to the full. Cooper is read chiefly for the 
thrilling story. Yet we shall mar our pleasure if we read 
only for this. A good novelist tries to prolong the pleasure 
of his narrative, and is disgusted by those readers who 
turn at once to the last chapter. 

By providing many kinds of interest Cooper tries to pre- 
vent his readers from rushing for the end. He introduces in 
almost every chapter a fresh surprise, sufficient for the 
pleasure of the hour. He endeavors to convey the charm 
of the woods in which the action takes place; makes us 
see the greens and russets of foliage, and the luminous 
hues of evening; makes us catch the aroma of fires, and the 
freshness of morning air. He enlists our interest in the 
picturesque details of Indian life and warfare. Most of 
all he challenges us to linger over the strong character who 

1 American Lands and Letters, i, 248. 


n 


SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY. 


appears in all the Leatherstocking series, and who ranks 
with Achilles, and Richard of England, and Ivanhoe, in the 
group of heroes dear to every youth. Cooper is sometimes 
spoken of as an artist merely of plot, and not of character. 
He is constantly sketching character, in odd moments, 
so to speak, just as Hawkeye, watching from behind a tree 
for a vulnerable patch of Mingo red, coolly takes this 
critical moment to philosophize on human nature. The fact 
that Cooper never finishes a portrait minutely should not 
blind us to his sound knowledge of certain phases of 
character. In reading The Last of the Mohicans it is 
desirable to get from the character-drawing as much pleas- 
ure as is possible without losing the stirring progress of the 
action. Indeed, we must go deliberately if we are to see 
the skill with which the plot itself is developed. 

As we proceed we may ask ourselves questions like the 
following, — which may be called particular plot-questions: 
First, is there a surprise in this chapter? Second, is it a 
“melodramatic” surprise, or is it prepared for? That is to 
say, is it violently and sensationally thrust upon us at a 
peaceful moment, or are slight indications strewn along, 
which, once perceived by a careful reader, would have pre- 
pared him for it? Third, does the chapter stop in a mo- 
ment of suspense? Fourth, is the chapter a peaceful step in 
the story, without much action or dramatic effect, as for ex- 
ample, Chapter I? Fifth, does the chapter rather contain — 
as the eighth contains — a “situation;” that is, a minor 
crisis of the story, full of dramatic quality, and more excit- 
ing than the chapters just preceding? Sixth, does the chap- 
ter neither contain a “situation” nor consist of a “peaceful 
step,” but constitute a digression or “episode;” that is, an 
independent side-story, not advancing the main narrative? 

As we draw near the end of the book we may sum up 
by propounding to ourselves general plot-questions. First, 
has the interest been kept up steadily? Second, have the 
events been probable, or not? Third, has there been only 
one “thread” — the fortunes of one group of people — or have 
there been two threads? Fourth, has the plot worked up 
to one impressive situation, or has it ended weakly? 


SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY. 


13 


With regard to character, we may take notes on various 
points. First, do some persons in the book seem real, as if 
we had known them, and others seem shadowy? In other 
words, are some individuals, and others only types? Most 
writers of fiction are able to construct only types. Their 
books contain what the play-wrights call “stock charac- 
ters;” for example, the miser, the spendthrift, the villain, 
the indulgent father, the anxious mother, the good boy, the 
parson. The miser seems governed by no other principle 
in the world than love of money; the villain is unadulter- 
ated villainy; the good boy is always and everywhere a 
pattern of goodness. We must ask ourselves whether 
Cooper’s Hawkeye is proving himself to be merely a 
typical, an average scout, or whether he shows individual 
turns and twists of character that distinguish him from all 
other scouts. Similarly we must examine the charge that 
Cooper’s Indians are merely types of two sorts — one kind 
all good, the other all bad.^ Again, the question is sure to 
arise whether Cooper’s women merely stand for female 
beauty and goodness, or whether they are alive, and re- 
sponsible for each individual act. Do they talk like books, 
or like two characteristic women of the year 1757? Indeed, 
every character in the novel should be inspected as to his 
style of speech, to see if it is consistent with his nature 
and education. Finally, it may be queried whether Cooper’s 
characters do not change and develop as the story pro- 
ceeds. In real life, action and responsibility and love may 
be great developers of whatever is noblest in men and 
women. How is this in Cooper’s fiction? 

The foregoing questions will suggest such theme-subjects 
as these: The Dramatic Situations in The Last of the 
Mohicans. In What Degree is Cooper Sensational? A 
Summary of The Last of the Mohicans, in 500 Words. 
Cooper’s Manliness. The Noble Characters in The Last of 
the Mohicans. The Character of Cooper’s Hawkeye. Uncas 

1 For further light on Indian character we may consult such works as 
Parkman’s “Montcalm and Wolfe,” Mrs. Jackson’s “A Century of Dis- 
honor,” and Grinnel’s “The Wild Indian;” but we are chiefly concerned 
to understand exactly what was Cooper’s own notion of the red man. 
Neither Parkman’s opinion nor even Hawkeye’s must blind us to Cooper’s 
own. 


14 


SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY. 


and Heyward Contrasted as Lovers. Endurance as a Qual- 
ity of Cooper’s Characters. A Comparison of Cora 
and Alice. Are Cooper’s Characters Types or Individuals? 
The Individual Speech of Certain Characters in The Last of 
the Mohicans. Do Cooper’s Characters Develop? After 
reading a few chapters each student will be able to choose 
two or three such topics. If thereafter he takes a very few 
notes daily on each, he will have at the end plenty of ma- 
terial for a week of theme-writing. Furthermore , this 
method will keep him from hasty assertions, will help to 
form in him a scholarly method, and will prove an excel- 
lent means of fixing in mind those qualities of Cooper’s 
work which give it lasting value. 


AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION/ 


It is believed that the scene of this tale, and most of the 
information necessary to understand its allusions, are ren- 
dered sufficiently obvious to the reader in the text itself, or 
in the accompanying notes. Still, there is so much obscu- 
rity in the Indian traditions, and so much confusion in the 
Indian names, as to render some explanation useful. 

Few men exhibit greater diversity, or, if we may so 
express it, greater antithesis of character, than the native 
warrior of North America. In war he is daring, boastful, 
cunning, ruthless, self-denying, and self-devoted; in peace, 
just, generous, hospitable, revengeful, superstitious, modest, 
and commonly chaste. These are qualities, it is true, which 
do not distinguish all alike; but they are so far the pre- 
dominating traits of these remarkable people as to be 
characteristic. 

It is generally believed that the aborigines of the Ameri- 
can continent have an Asiatic origin.^ There are many 
physical as well as moral facts which corroborate this 
opinion, and some few that would seem to weigh against it. 

The color of the Indian, the writer believes, is peculiar to 
himself; and while his cheek-bones have a very striking 
indication of a Tartar origin, his eyes have not. Climate 
may have had great influence on the former, but it is diffi- 
cult to see how it can have produced the substantial dif- 
ference which exists in the latter. The imagery of the 
Indian, both in his poetry and his oratory, is oriental,— 
chastened, and perhaps improved, by the limited range of 
his practical knowledge. He draws his metaphors from the 
clouds, the seasons, the birds, the beasts, and the vegetable 
world. In this, perhaps, he does no more than any other 
energetic and imaginative race would do, being compelled 
to set bounds to fancy by experience; but the North Ameri- 
can Indian clothes his ideas in a dress which is different 

^ Cooper wrote this Introduction In later years to answer questions 
that had occurred to his readers. 

2 After seventy years many ethnologists think as did Cooper’s contem- 
jToraries. 

15 


16 


AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION. 


from that of the African, and is oriental in itself. His lan- 
guage has the richness and sententious fulness of the 
Chinese. He will express a phrase in a word, and he will 
qualify the meaning of an entire sentence by a syllable; he 
will even convey different significations by the simplest in- 
flections of the voice. 

Philologists have said that there are but two or three lan- 
guages, properly speaking, among all the numerous tribes 
which formerly occupied the country that now composes 
the United States. They ascribe the known difficulty one 
people have in understanding another, to corruptions and 
dialects. The writer remembers to have been present at 
an interview between two chiefs of the great prairies west 
of the Mississippi, and when an interpreter was in attend- 
ance who spoke both their languages. The warriors ap- 
peared to be on the most friendly terms, and seemingly 
conversed much together; yet, according to the account of 
the interpreter, each was absolutely ignorant of what the 
other said. They were of hostile tribes, brought together 
by the influence of the American government; and it is 
worthy of remark that a common policy led them both to 
adopt the same subject. They mutually exhorted each 
other to be of use in the event of the chances of war throw- 
ing either of the parties into the hands of his enemies. 
Whatever may be the truth as respects the root and the 
genius of the Indian tongues, it is quite certain they are 
now so distinct in their words as to possess most of the 
disadvantages of strange languages; hence much of the 
embarrassment that has arisen in learning their histories, 
and most of the uncertainty which exists in their traditions. 

Like nations of higher pretensions, the American Indian 
gives a very different account of his own tribe or race from 
that which is given by other people. He is much addicted 
to overestimating his own perfections, and to undervaluing 
those of his rival or his enemy, a trait which may possibly 
be thought corroborative of the Mosaic account of the 
creation.^ 

1 Perhaps Cooper means that this universal weakness of vanity la 
a sign of man’s Imperfect nature. “The Lord God formed man of 


AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION. 


17 


The whites have assisted greatly in rendering the tradi- 
tions of the aborigines more obscure by their own manner 
of corrupting names. Thus, the term used in the title of 
this book has undergone the changes of Mahicanni, Mohi- 
cans, and Mohegans, the latter being the word commonly 
used by the whites. When it is remembered that the Dutch 
(who first settled New York), the English, and the French 
all gave appellations to the tribes that dwelt within the 
country which is the scene of this story, and that the 
Indians not only gave different names to their enemies but 
frequently to themselves, the cause of the confusion will 
be understood. 

In these pages, Lenni Lenape,^ Lenope, Delawares, Wa- 
panachki,^ and Mohicans, all mean the same people, or 
tribes of the same stock. The Mengwe, the Maquas, the 
Mingoes, and the Iroquois, though not all strictly the same, 
are identified frequently by the speakers, being politically 
confederated and opposed to those just named. Mingo 
was a term of peculiar reproach, as were Mengwe and 
Maqua in a less degree. 

The Mohicans were the possessors of the country first 
occupied by the Europeans in this portion of the continent. 
They were consequently the first dispossessed; and the 
seemingly inevitable fate of all these people, who disap- 
pear before the advances, or, it might be termed, the inroads, 
of civilization, as the verdure of their native forests falls 
before the nipping frost, is represented as having already 
befallen them. There is sufficient historical truth in the 
picture to justify the use that has been made of it. 

In point of fact, the country which is the scene of the 
following tale has undergone as little change, since the 
historical events alluded to had place, as almost any other 
district of equal extent within the whole limits of the 
United States. There are fashionable and well-attended 
watering-places® at and near the spring where Hawkeye 
halted to drink, and roads traverse the forests where he 

the dust of the ground.” There is no necessity of searching for a paraiiel 
between the Indian tribes and the Israelitish tribes. 

^ Len'ni-lenah'pe. * Wahpanahk'ki. * Saratoga and Ballston. 

2 


18 


AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION. 


and his friends were compelled to journey without even a 
path. Glenn’s has a large village; and while William 
Henry, and even a fortress of later date, are only to he 
traced as ruins, there is another village on the shores of 
the Horican.^ But, beyond this, the enterprise and energy 
of the people who have done so much in other places 
have done little here. The whole of that wilderness in 
which the latter incidents of the legend occurred is nearly 
a wilderness still, though the red man has entirely de- 
serted this part of the state. Of all the tribes named in 
these pages, there exist only a few half-civilized beings of 
the Oneidas on the reservations of their people in New 
York. The rest have disappeared, either from the regions 
in which their fathers dwelt, or altogether from the earth. 

There is one point on which we would wish to say a 
word before closing this preface. Hawkeye calls the Lac 
du Saint SacremenU the “Horican.” As we believe this 
to be an appropriation of the name that has its origin 
with ourselves, the time has arrived, perhaps, when the 
fact should be frankly admitted. While writing this book, 
fully a quarter of a century since, it occurred to us that 
the French name of this lake was too complicated, the 
American too commonplace, and the Indian too unpro- 
nounceable, for either to be used familiarly in a work of 
fiction. Looking over an ancient map, it was ascertained 
that a tribe of Indians, called “Les Horicans” by the French, 
existed in the neighborhood of this beautiful sheet of 
water. As every word uttered by Natty Bumppo was not 
to be received as rigid truth, we took the liberty of put- 
ting the “Horican” into his mouth, as the substitute for 
“Lake George.” The name has appeared to find favor, 
and, all things considered, it may possibly be quite as 
well to let it stand, instead of going back to the house 
of Hanover for the appellation of our finest sheet of water. 
We relieve our conscience by the confession, at all events, 
leaving it to exercise its authority as it may see fit. 

1 Caldwell. 

2 Lake of the Holy Sacrament. Governor Johnson named Lake George 
for George II, The usual spelling of the Indian name Is Horlcon. 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS 


CHAPTER I 


Mine ear is open and my heart prepared: 

The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold. 

Say, is my kingdom lost? 

—Shakespeare. 

It was a feature peculiar to the colonial wars of North 
America that the toils and dangers of the wilderness were 
to be encountered before the adverse hosts could meet. 
A wide and apparently an impervious boundary of forests 
severed the possessions of the hostile provinces of France 
and England. The hardy colonist, and the trained Euro- 
pean who fought at his side, frequently expended months 
in struggling against the rapids of the streams, or in ef- 
fecting the rugged passes of the mountains, in quest of an 
opportunity to exhibit their courage in a more martial 
conflict. But, emulating the patience and self-denial of the 
practiced native warriors, they learned to overcome every 
difficulty; and it would seem that in time there was no 
recess of the woods so dark, nor any secret place so lovely, 
that it might claim exemption from the inroads of those 
who had pledged their blood to satiate their vengeance, or 
to uphold the cold and selfish policy of the distant mon- 
archs of Europe. 

Perhaps no district throughout the wide extent of the 
intermediate frontiers can furnish a livelier picture of the 
cruelty and fierceness of the savage warfare of those peri- 
ods than the country which lies between the head waters 
of the Hudson and the adjacent lakes. 

The facilities which nature had there offered to the 
march of the combatants were too obvious to be neglected. 
The lengthened sheet of the Champlain stretched from 
the frontiers of Canada, deep within the borders of the 

19 


20 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


neighboring province of New York, forming a natural 
passage across half the distance that the French were 
compelled to master in order to strike their enemies. Near 
its southern termination it received the contributions of 
another lake, whose waters were so limpid as to have been 
exclusively selected by the Jesuit missionaries to perform 
the typical purification of baptism, and to obtain for it 
the title of lake “du Saint Sacrement.” The less zealous 
English thought they conferred a sufiicient honor on its 
unsullied fountains when they bestowed the name of their 
reigning prince, the second of the House of Hanover. 
The two united to rob the untutored possessors of its 
wooded scenery of their native right to perpetuate its 
original appellation of “Horican.”^ 

Winding its way among countless islands, and imbedded 
in mountains, the “holy lake” extended a dozen leagues 
still further to the south. With the high plain that there 
interposed itself to the further passage of the water, com- 
menced a portage of as many miles, which conducted the 
adventurer to the banks of the Hudson, at a point where, 
with the usual obstructions of the rapids, or rifts, as they 
were then termed in the language of the country, the river 
became navigable to the tide. 

While, in the pursuit of their daring plans of annoy- 
ance, the restless enterprise of the French even attempted 
the distant and difficult gorges of the Alleghany, it may 
easily be imagined that their proverbial acuteness would 
not overlook the natural advantages of the district we 
have just described. It became, emphatically, the bloody 
arena in which most of the battles for the mastery of 
the colonies were contested. Forts were erected at the dif- 
ferent points that commanded the facilities of the route, 
and were taken and retaken, razed and rebuilt, as victory 
alighted on the hostile banners. While the husbandman 

1 As each nation of the Indians had either its language or Its dialect, 
they usually gave different names to the same places, though nearly all 
of their appellations were descriptive of the object. Thus, a literal trans- 
lation of the name of this beautiful sheet of water, used by the tribe 
that dwelt on its banks, would be “The Tall of the Lake.” Lake 
George, as It Is vulgarly, and now Indeed legally called, forms a sort 
of tail to Lake Champlain, when viewed on the map. Hence the 
name. [Cooper’s note.] 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


21 


shrank back from the dangerous passes within the safer 
boundaries of the more ancient settlements, armies larger 
than those that had often disposed of the sceptres of the 
mother countries were seen to bury themselves in these 
forests, whence they rarely returned but in skeleton bands 
that were haggard with care or dejected by defeat. Though 
the arts of peace were unknown to this fatal region, its 
forests were alive with men; its shades and glens rang 
with the sounds of martial music, and the echoes of its 
mountains threw back the laugh, or repeated the wanton 
cry, of many a gallant and reckless youth, as he hurried 
by them in the noontide of his spirits, to slumber in 'a 
long night of forgetfulness. 

It was in this scene of strife and bloodshed that the 
incidents we shall attempt to relate occurred, during the 
third year of the w^ar which England and France last 
waged for the possession of a country that neither was 
destined to retain. 

The imbecility of her military leaders abroad, and the 
fatal want of energy in her councils at home, had low- 
ered the character of Great Britain from the proud eleva- 
tion on which it had been placed by the talents and en- 
terprise of her former warriors and statesmen. No longer 
dreaded by her enemies, her servants were fast losing the 
confidence of self-respect. In this mortifying abasement, 
the colonists, though innocent of her imbecility, and too 
humble to be the agents of her blunders, were but the 
natural participators. 

They had recently seen a chosen army from that coun- 
try, which, reverencing as a mother, they had blindly be- 
lieved invincible — an army led by a chief who had been 
selected from a crowd of trained warriors for his rare 
military endowments — disgracefully routed by a handful 
of French and Indians, and only saved from annihilation 
by the coolness and spirit of a Virginian boy, whose riper 
fame has since diffused itself, with the steady infiuence of 
moral truth, to the uttermost confines of Christendom.^ A 

1 Washington: who, after uselessly admonishing the European general 
of the danger into which be was heedlessly running, saved the remnants 


22 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


wide frontier had been laid naked by this unexpected disas- 
ter, and more substantial evils were preceded by a thousand 
fanciful and imaginary dangers. The alarmed colonists 
believed that the yells of the savages mingled with every 
fitful gust of wind that issued from the interminable for- 
ests of the west. The terrific character of their merciless 
enemies increased immeasurably the natural horrors of 
warfare. Numberless recent massacres were still vivid in 
their recollections; nor was there any ear in the provinces 
so deaf as not to have drunk in with avidity the narra- 
tive of some fearful tale of midnight murder, in which 
the natives of the forests were the principal and bar- 
barous actors. As the credulous and excited traveller re- 
lated the hazardous chances of the wilderness, the blood 
of the timid curdled with terror, and mothers cast anxious 
glances even at those children which slumbered within the 
security of the largest towns. In short, the magnifying 
influence of fear began to set at naught the calculations 
of reason, and to render those who should have remem- 
bered their manhood the slaves of the basest of passions. 
Even the most confident and the stoutest hearts began 
to think the issue of the contest was becoming doubtful; 
and that abject class was hourly increasing in numbers, 
who thought they foresaw all the possessions of the Eng- 
lish crown in America subdued by their Christian foes, 
or laid waste by the inroads of their relentless allies. 

When, therefore, intelligence was received at the fort 
which covered the southern termination of the portage 
between the Hudson and the lakes, that Montcalm had 
been seen moving up the Champlain, with an army “nu- 
merous as the leaves on the trees,” its truth was ad- 
mitted with more of the craven reluctance of fear than 
with the stern joy that a warrior should feel in finding 


of the British army, on this occasion, by his decision and courage. The 
reputation earned by Washington In this battle was the principal cause 
of his being selected to command the American armies at a later day. 
It is a circumstance worthy of observation, that, while all America rang 
with his well-merited reputation, his name does not occur in any Euro- 
pean account of the battle; at least, the author has searched for it 
without success. In this manner does the mother country absorb even 
the fame, under that system of rule. (Cooper’s note.] 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


23 


an enemy within reach of his blow. The news had been 
brought, toward the decline of a day in midsummer, by 
an Indian runner, who also bore an urgent request from 
Munro. the commander of a work on the shore of the 
“holy lake,” for a speedy and powerful reinforcement. It 
has already been mentioned that the distance between 
these two posts was less than five leagues. The rude path, 
which originally formed their line of communication, had 
been widened for the passage of wagons; so that the dis- 
tance which had been travelled by the son of the forest 
in two hours might easily be effected by a detachment 
of troops, with their necessary baggage, between the ris- 
ing and setting of a summer sun. The loyal servants of 
the British crown had given to one of these forest fast- 
nesses the name of William Henry, and to the other that 
of Fort Edward, calling each after a favorite prince of 
the reigning family. The veteran Scotchman just named 
held the first, with a regiment of regulars and a few pro- 
vincials, a force really by far too small to make head 
against the formidable power that Montcalm was lead- 
ing to the foot of his earthen mounds. At the latter 
however lay General Webb, who commanded the armies 
of the king in the northern provinces, with a body of 
more than five thousand men. By uniting the several de- 
tachments of his command, this officer might have ar- 
rayed nearly double that number of combatants against 
the enterprising Frenchman who had ventured so far from 
his reinforcements, with an army but little superior in 
numbers. 

But under the influence of their degraded fortunes, both 
oflacers and men appeared better disposed to await the ap- 
proach of their formidable antagonists within their works, 
than to resist the progress of their march by emulating 
the successful example of the French at Fort du Quesne, 
and striking a blow on their advance. 

After the first surprise of the intelligence had a little 
abated, a rumor was spread through the intrenched camp, 
which stretched along the margin of the Hudson, form- 
ing a chain of outworks to the body of the fort itself. 


24 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


that a chosen detachment of fifteen hundred men was 
to depart, with the dawn, for William Henry, the post at 
the northern extremity of the portage. That which at first 
was only rumor soon became certainty, as orders passed 
from the quarters of the commander-in-chief to the sev- 
eral corps he had selected for this service, to prepare for 
their speedy departure. All doubts as to the intention of 
Webb now vanished, and an hour or two of hurried foot- 
steps and anxious faces succeeded. The novice in the 
military art fiew from point to point, retarding his own 
preparations by the excess of his violent and somewhat 
distempered zeal; while the more practiced veteran made 
his arrangements with a deliberation that scorned every 
appearance of haste, though his sober lineaments and 
anxious eye sufficiently betrayed that he had no very 
strong professional relish for the as yet untried and dreaded 
warfare of the wilderness. At length the sun set in a 
flood of glory, behind the distant western hills; and as 
darkness drew its veil around the secluded spot the sounds 
of preparation diminished, the last light finally disap- 
peared from the log cabin of some officer, the trees cast 
their deeper shadows over the mounds and the rippling 
stream, and a silence soon pervaded the camp, as deep 
as that which reigned in the vast forest by which it 
was environed. 

According to the orders of the preceding night, the 
heavy sleep of the army was broken by the rolling of the 
warning drums, whose rattling echoes were heard issuing, 
on the damp morning air, out of every vista of the woods, 
just as day began to draw the shaggy outlines of some 
tall pines of the vicinity on the opening brightness of 
a soft and cloudless eastern sky. In an instant the whole 
camp was in motion, the meanest soldier arousing from 
his lair to witness the departure of his comrades, and 
to share in the excitement and incidents of the hour. 
The simple array of the chosen band was soon completed. 
While the regular and trained hirelings of the king 
marched with haughtiness to the right of the line, the 
less pretending colonists took their humbler position on 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


25 


its left, with a docility that long practice had rendered 
easy. The scouts departed; strong guards preceded and 
followed the lumbering vehicles that bore the baggage; 
and before the gray light of the morning was mellowed 
by the rays of the sun, the main body of the combatants 
wheeled into column and left the encampment, with a 
show of high military bearing that served to drown the 
slumbering apprehensions of many a novice who was 
now about to make his first essay in arms. While in view 
of their admiring comrades the same proud front and or- 
dered array was observed, until, the notes of their fifes 
growing fainter in distance, the forest at length appeared 
to swallow up the living mass which had slowly entered 
its bosom. 

The deepest sounds of the retiring and invisible column 
had ceased to be borne on the breeze to the listeners, 
and the latest straggler had already disappeared in pur- 
suit; but there still remained the signs of another depar- 
ture, before a log cabin of unusual size and accommoda- 
tions, in front of which those sentinels paced their rounds 
who were known to guard the person of the English gen- 
eral. At this spot were gathered some half dozen horses, 
caparisoned in a manner which showed that two, at least, 
were destined to bear the persons of females, of a rank 
that it was not usual to meet so far in the wilds of the 
country. A third wore the trappings and arms of an 
ofiBcer of the staff; while the rest, from the plainness of 
the housings, and the travelling mails^ with which they 
were encumbered, were evidently fitted for the reception 
of as many menials, who were, seemingly, already await- 
ing the pleasure of those they served. At a respectful 
distance from this unusual show were gathered divers 
groups of curious idlers; some admiring the blood and 
bone of the high-mettled military charger, and others gaz- 
ing at the preparations with the dull wonder of vulgar 
curiosity. There was one man, however, who, by his coun- 
tenance and actions, formed a marked exception to those 

1 Bags — but here not mall-bag®. “Mall” means a meshed bag. Compare 
“coat of mail.” 


26 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


who composed the latter class of spectators, being neither 
idle nor seemingly very ignorant. 

The person of this individual was to the last degree un- 
gainly, without being in any particular manner deformed. 
He had all the bones and joints of other men, without any 
of their proportions. Erect, his stature surpassed that of 
his fellows; though, seated, he appeared reduced within the 
ordinary limits of the race. The same contrariety in his 
members seemed to exist throughout the whole man. His 
head was large; his shoulders narrow; his arms long and 
dangling; while his hands were small, if not delicate. His 
legs and thighs were thin, nearly to emaciation, but of 
extraordinary length; and his knees would have been con- 
sidered tremendous, had they not been outdone by the 
broader foundations on which this false superstructure of 
the blended human orders was so profanely reared. The 
ill-assorted and injudicious attire of the individual only 
served to render his awkwardness more conspicuous. A 
sky-blue coat, with short and broad skirts and low cape, 
exposed a long thin neck, and longer and thinner legs, to 
the worst animadversions of the evil disposed. His nether 
garment was of yellow nankeen, closely fitted to the 
shape, and tied at his bunches of knees by large knots 
of white ribbon, a good deal sullied by use. Clouded cot- 
ton stockings, and shoes, on one of the latter of which 
was a plated spur, completed the costume of the lov^er 
extremity of this figure, no curve or angle of which v/as 
concealed, but on the other hand studiously exhibited, 
through the vanity or simplicity of its owner. From be- 
neath the flap of an enormous pocket of a soiled vest 
of embossed silk, heavily ornamented with tarnished silver 
lace, projected an instrument which, from being seen in 
such martial company, might have been easily mistaken 
for some mischievous and unknown implement of war. 
Small as it was, this uncommon engine had excited the 
curiosity of most of the Europeans in the camp, though 
several of the provincials were seen to handle it, not only 
without fear, but with the utmost familiarity. A large, 
civil cocked hat, like those worn by clergymen within 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


27 


the last thirty years, surmounted the whole, furnishing 
dignity to a good-natured and somewhat vacant counte- 
nance, that apparently needed such artificial aid to sup- 
port the gravity of some high and extraordinary trust. 

While the common herd stood aloof in deference to the 
quarters of Wehb,^ the figure we have described stalked 
into the centre of the domestics, freely expressing his 
censures or commendations on the merits of the horses, as 
by chance they displeased or satisfied his judgment. 

“This beast, I rather conclude, friend, is not of home 
raising, but is from foreign lands, or perhaps from the 
little island itself over the blue water?” he said, in a voice 
as remarkable for the softness and sweetness of its tones 
as was his person for its rare proportions: “I may speak 
of these things, and be no braggart; for I have been 
down at both havens; that which is situate at the mouth 
of Thames, and is named after the capital of Old England, 
and that which is called ‘Haven,’ -with the addition of the 
word ‘New’; and have seen the snows* and brigantines 
collecting their droves, like the gathering to the ark, be- 
ing outward bound to the Island of Jamaica, for the pur- 
pose of barter and traflic in four-footed animals; but never 
before have I beheld a beast which verified the true Scrip- 
ture war-horse like this: ‘He paweth in the valley, and 
rejoiceth in his strength: he goeth on to meet the armed 
men. He saith among the trumpets, Ha, ha; and he smell- 
eth the battle afar off, the thunder of the captains, and 
the shouting.’ It would seem that the stock of the horse 
of Israel has descended to our own time; would it not, 
friend?” 

Receiving no reply to this extraordinary appeal, which 
in truth, as it was delivered with the vigor of full and 
sonorous tones, merited some sort of notice, he who had 
thus sung forth the language of the Holy Book turned to 
the silent figure to whom he had unwittingly addressed 
himself, and found a new and more powerful subject of 
admiration in the object that encountered his gaze. His 

1 See Parkman’s “Montcalm and Wolfe,” Index, under Wolfe. 

a Vessels similar to brigantines. 


28 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


eyes fell on the still, upright, and rigid form of the “In- 
dian runner,” who had borne to the camp the unwelcome 
tidings of the preceding evening. Although in a state of 
perfect repose, and apparently disregarding, with charac- 
teristic stoicism, the excitement and bustle around him, 
there was a sullen fierceness mingled with the quiet of 
the savage, that was likely to arrest the attention of 
much more experienced eyes than those which now scanned 
him in unconcealed amazement. The native bore both the 
tomahawk and knife of his tribe; and yet his appear- 
ance was not altogether that of a warrior. On the con- 
trary, there was an air of neglect about his person, like 
that which might have proceeded from great and recent 
exertion, which he had not yet found leisure to repair. 
The colors of the war paint had blended in dark confusion 
about his fierce countenance, and rendered his swarthy 
lineaments still more savage and repulsive than if art 
had attempted an effect which had been thus produced 
by chance. His eye, alone, which glistened like a fiery 
star amid lowering clouds, was to be seen in its state 
of native wildness. For a single instant, his searching 
and yet wary glance met the wondering look of the other, 
and then, changing its direction, partly in cunning and 
partly in disdain, it remained fixed, as if penetrating the 
distant air. 

It is impossible to say what unlooked-for remark this 
short and silent communication, between two such singu- 
lar men, might have elicited from the white man, had not 
his active curiosity been again drawn to other objects. 
A general movement among the domestics, and a low 
sound of gentle voices, announced the approach of those 
whose presence alone was wanted to enable the cavalcade 
to move. The simple admirer of the war-horse instantly 
fell back to a low, gaunt, switch-tailed mare, that was 
unconsciously gleaning the faded herbage of the camp 
nigh by; where, leaning with one elbow on the blanket 
that concealed an apology for a saddle, he became a spec- 
tator of the departure, while a foal was quietly making 
its morning repast, on the opposite side of the same animal. 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


29 


A young man in the dress of an officer conducted to 
their steeds two females, who, as it was apparent by their 
dresses, were prepared to encounter the fatigues of a 
journey in the woods. One, and she was the most^ juve- 
nile in her appearance, though both were young, permitted 
glimpses of her dazzling complexion, fair golden hair, and 
bright blue eyes to be caught as she artlessly suffered the 
morning air to blow aside the green veil which descended 
low from her beaver.^ The flush which still lingered above 
the pines in the western sky was not more bright nor 
delicate than the bloom on her cheek; nor was the opening 
day more cheering than the animated smile which she 
bestowed on the youth, as he assisted her into the saddle. 
The other, who appeared to share equally in the atten- 
tions of the young officer, concealed her charms from the 
gaze of the soldiery with a care that seemed better fitted 
to the experience of four or five additional years. It could 
be seen however that her person, though moulded with 
the same exquisite proportions, of which none of the 
graces were lost by the travelling dress she wore, was 
rather fuller and more mature than that of her companion. 

No sooner were these females seated than their attend- 
ant sprang lightly into the saddle of the war-horse, when 
the whole three bowed to Webb, who, in courtesy, awaited 
their parting on the threshold of his cabin, and turning 
their horses’ heads, they proceeded at a slow amble, fol- 
lowed by their train, toward the northern entrance of 
the encampment. As they traversed that short distance 
not a voice was heard amongst them; but a slight ex- 
clam.ation proceeded from the younger of the females, as 
the Indian runner glided by her, unexpectedly, and led 
the way along the military road in her front. Though this 
sudden and startling movement of the Indian produced no 
sound from the other, in the surprise her veil also was 
allowed to open its folds, and betrayed an indescribable 
look of pity, admiration, and horror, as her dark eye fol- 
lowed the easy motions of the savage. The tresses of this 

1 An example of Cooper’s carelessness. 

2 Hat, of beaver or sUk. 


30 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


lady were shining and black, like the plumage of the 
raven. Her complexion was not browm, but it rather ap- 
peared charged with the color of the rich blood that seemed 
ready to burst its bounds. And yet there was neither 
coarseness nor want of shadowing in a countenance that 
was exquisitely regular and dignified, and surpassingly 
beautiful. She smiled, as if in pity at her own momen- 
tary forgetfulness, discovering by the act a row of teeth 
that would have shamed the purest ivory; when, replac- 
ing the veil, she bowed her face, and rode in silence, like 
one whose thoughts were abstracted from the scene around 
her. 


CHAPTER II 

Sola, sola, wo, ha, ho, sola! 

—Shakespeare. 

While one of the lovely beings we have so cursorily pre- 
sented to the reader was thus lost in thought, the other 
quickly recovered from the alarm which induced the ex- 
clamation, and, laughing at her own weakness, she in- 
quired of the youth who rode by her side, — 

“Are such spectres frequent in the woods, Heyward; or 
is this sight an especial entertainment ordered on our be- 
half? If the latter, gratitude must close our mouths; but if 
the former, both Cora and I shall have need to draw largely 
on that stock of hereditary courage which w’e boast, even 
before we are made to encounter the redoubtable Mont- 
calm.” 

“Yon Indian is a ‘runner’ of the army; and, after the 
fashion of his people, he may be accounted a hero,” re- 
turned the officer. “He has volunteered to guide us to 
the lake, by a path but little known, sooner than if we 
followed the tardy movements of the column; and, by con- 
sequence, more agreeably.” 

“I like him not,” said the lady, shuddering, partly in 
assumed, yet more in real terror. “You know him, Dun- 
can, or you would not trust yourself so freely to his keep- 
ing?” 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


31 


“Say, rather, Alice, that I would not trust you. I do 
know him, or he would not have my confidence, and least 
of all at this moment. He is said to be a Canadian, too; 
and yet he served with our friends, the Mohawks, who, 
as you know, are one of the six allied nations.^ He was 
brought amongst us, as I have heard, by some strange acci- 
dent in which your father was interested, and in which 
the savage was rigidly dealt by — but I forget the idle tale; 
it is enough that he is now our friend.” 

“If he has been my father’s^ enemy, I like him still less!” 
exclaimed the now really anxious girl. “Will you not 
speak to him. Major Heyward, that I may hear his tones? 
Foolish though it may be, you have often heard me avow 
my faith in the tones of the human voice!” 

“It would be in vain; and answered, most probably, by 
an ejaculation. Though he may understand it, he affects, 
like most of his people, to be ignorant of the English; and 
least of all will he condescend to speak it, now that the war 
demands the utmost exercise of his dignity. But he stops; 
the private path by which we are to journey is doubtless 
at hand.” 

The conjecture of Major Heyward was true. When they 
reached the spot where the Indian stood, pointing into the 
thicket that fringed the military road, a narrow and blind 
path, which might, with some little inconvenience, re- 
ceive one person at a time, became visible. 

“Here, then, lies our way,” said the young man, in a 

1 There existed for a long time a confederatio^n among the Indian 
tribes which occupied the northwestern part of the colony of New 
York, which was at first known as the “Five Nations.” At a later 
day it admitted another tribe, when the appellation was changed to 
that of the ‘‘Six Nations.” The original confederation consisted of the 
Mohawks, the Oneidas, the Senecas, the Cayugas, and the Onondagas. 
The sixth tribe was the Tuscaroras. There are remnants of all these 
people still living on lands secured to them by the State; but they 
are daily disappearing, either by deaths or by removals to scenes 
more congenial to their habits. In a short time there will be no 
remains of these extraordinary people in those regions in which they 
dwelt for centuries, but their names. The State of New York has 
counties named after all of them but the Mohawks and the Tuscaroras. 
The second river of that State is called the Mohawk. [Cooper’s note.] 

2 Cora and Alice are creatures of Cooper’s fancy; but their father, 
Colonel Munro [Monro], was the actual commandant of Fort William 
Henry. See Cooper’s introduction, above; and Parkman’s ‘‘Montcalm and 
Wolfe,” Index. 


32 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


low voice. “Manifest no distrust, or you may invite the 
danger you appear to apprehend.” 

“Cora, what think you?” asked the reluctant fair one. 
“If we journey with the troops, though we may find their 
presence irksome, shall we not feel better assurance of our 
safety?” 

“Being little accustomed to the practices of the savages, 
Alice, you mistake the place of real danger,” said Hey- 
ward. “If enemies have reached the portage at all, a 
thing by no means probable, as our scouts are abroad, they 
will surely be found skirting the column, where scalps 
abound the most. The route of the detachment is known, 
while ours, having been determined within the hour, must 
still be secret.” 

“Should we distrust the man because his manners are 
not our manners, and that his skin is dark?” coldly asked 
Cora. 

Alice hesitated no longer; but giving her Narragansett' 
a smart cut of the whip, she was the first to dash aside the 
slight branches of the bushes, and to follow the runner 
along the dark and tangled pathway. The young man 
regarded the last speaker in open admiration, and even 
permitted her fairer though certainly not more beautiful 
companion to proceed unattended, while he sedulously 
opened the way himself for the passage of her who has 
been called Cora. It would seem that the domestics had 
been previously instructed; for, instead of penetrating the 
thicket, they followed the route of the column, — a meas- 
ure which Heyward stated had been dictated by the sa- 
gacity of their guide, in order to diminish the marks of 
their trail, if, haply, the Canadian savages should be lurk- 


1 In the State of Rhode Island there is a bay called Narragansett, 
BO named after a powerful tribe of Indians, which formerly dwelt on 
its banks. Accident, or one of those unaccountable freaks which 
nature sometimes plays in the animal w’orld, gave rise to a breed of 
horses which were once well known in America by the name of the 
Narragansetts. They were small, commonly of the color called sorrel 
in America, and distinguished by their habit of pacing. Horses of 
this race were, and are still, in much request as saddle-horses, on ac- 
count of their hardiness and the ease of their movements. As they 
were also sure of foot, the Narragansetts were greatly sought for by 
females who were obliged to tmvel over the roots and holes in the 
“new countries.” [Cooper’s note,] 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


33 


ing so far in advance of their army. For many minutes 
the intricacy of the route adihitted of no further dialogue; 
after which they emerged from the broad border of un- 
derbrush which grew along the line of the highway, and 
entered under the high but dark arches of the forest. 
Here their progress was less interrupted; and the instant 
the guide perceived that the females could command their 
steeds, he moved on, at a pace between a trot and a walk, 
and at a rate which kept the sure-footed and peculiar 
animals they rode at a fast yet easy amble. The youth 
had turned to speak to the dark-eyed Cora, when the dis- 
tant sound of horses’ hoofs, clattering over the roots of 
the broken way in his rear, caused him to check his 
charger; and, as his companions drew their reins at the 
same instant, the whole party came to a halt in order 
to obtain an explanation of the unlooked-for interruption. 

In a few moments a colt was seen gliding, like a fallow- 
deer, among the straight trunks of the pines; and in 
another instant the person of the ungainly man described 
in the preceding chapter came into view, with as much 
rapidity as he could excite his meagre beast to endure 
without coming to an open rupture. Until now this per- 
sonage had escaped the observation of the travellers. If 
he possessed the power to arrest any wandering eye when 
exhibiting the glories of his altitude on foot, his equestrian 
graces were still more likely to attract attention. Notwith- 
standing a constant application of his one armed heel to 
the flanks of the mare, the most confirmed gait that he 
could establish was a Canterbury^ gallop with the hind legs, 
in which those more forward assisted for doubtful mo- 
ments, though generally content to maintain a loping trot. 
Perhaps the rapidity of the changes from one of these 
paces to the other created an optical illusion which might 
thus magnify the powers of the beast; for it is certain 
that Heyward, who possessed a true eye for the merits 
of a horse, was unable, with his utmost ingenuity, to de- 
cide by what sort of movement his pursuer worked his 

^ That is. a canter. 

3 


34 THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 

sinuous way on his footsteps with such persevering hardi- 
hood. 

The industry and movements of the rider were not less 
remarkable than those of the ridden. At each change in 
the evolutions of the latter, the former raised his tall per- 
son in the stirrups; producing, in this manner, by the 
undue elongation of his legs, such sudden growths and 
diminishings of the stature as baffled every conjecture that 
might be made as to his dimensions. If to this be added 
the fact that, in consequence of the cx 'pai'te application of 
the spur, one side of the mare appeared to journey faster 
than the other; and that the aggrieved flank was resolutely 
indicated by unremitted flourishes of a bushy tail, we 
finish the picture of both horse and man. 

The frown which had gathered around the handsome, 
open, and manly brow of Heyward gradually relaxed, and 
his lips curled into a slight smile as he regarded the 
stranger. Alice made no very powerful effort to control 
her merriment; and even the dark, thoughtful eye of Cora 
lighted with a humor that, it would seem, the habit, rather 
than the nature, of its mistress repressed. 

“Seek you any here?” demanded HeyAvard, when the 
other had arrived sufficiently nigh to abate his speed; “I 
trust you are no messenger of evil tidings?” 

“Even so,” replied the stranger, making diligent use of 
his triangular castor to produce a circulation in the close 
air of the woods, and leaving his hearers in doubt to which 
of the young man’s questions he responded; when, how- 
ever, he had cooled his face, and recovered his breath, he 
continued: “I hear you are riding to William Henry; as I 
am journeying thitherward myself, I concluded good com- 
pany would seem consistent to the wishes of both parties.” 

“You appear to possess the privilege of a casting vote,” 
returned Heyward; “we are three, while you have con- 
sulted no one but yourself.” 

“Even so. The first point to be obtained is to know 
one’s own mind. Once sure of that, and where women are 
concerned it is not easy, the next is, to act up to the 
decision. I have endeavored to do both, and here I am.” 


t 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


35 


“If you journey to the lake, you have mistaken your 
route,” said Heyward, haughtily; “the highway thither is 
at least half a mile behind you.” 

“Even so,” returned the stranger, nothing daunted by 
this cold reception; “I have tarried at ‘Edward’ a week, 
and I should be dumb not to have inquired the road I was 
to journey; and if dumb there would be an end to my call- 
ing.” After simpering in a small w’ay, like one whose 
modesty prohibited a more open expression of his admira- 
tion of a witticism that was perfectly unintelligible to his 
hearers, he continued: “It is not prudent for any one of 
my profession to be too familiar with those he has to in- 
struct; for which reason I follow not the line of the army; 
besides which, I conclude that a gentleman of your char- 
acter has the best judgment in matters of wayfaring; 1 
have therefore decided to join company, in order that the 
ride may be made agreeable, and partake of social com- 
munion.” 

“A most arbitrary, if not a hasty decision!” exclaimed 
Heyward, undecided whether to give vent to his growing 
anger, or to laugh in the other’s face. “But you speak of 
instruction, and of a profession; are you an adjunct to the 
provincial corps, as a master of the noble science of de- 
fense and offense? or, perhaps, you are one who draws lines 
and angles, under the pretense of expounding the mathe- 
matics?” 

The stranger regarded his interrogator a moment, in 
wonder; and then, losing every mark of self-satisfaction in 
an expression of solemn humility, he answered: — 

“Of offense, I hope there is none, to either party: of 
defense, I make none — by God’s good mercy having com- 
mitted no palpable sin since last entreating his pardoning 
grace. I understand not your allusions about lines and 
angles; and I leave expounding to those who have been 
called and set apart for that holy office. I lay claim to no 
higher gift than a small insight into the glorious art of 
petitioning and thanksgiving, as practiced in psalmody.” 

“The man is, most manifestly, a disciple of Apollo,” 
cried the amused Alice, “and I take him under my own 


36 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


especial protection. Nay, throw aside that frown, Hey- 
ward, and in pity to my longing ears, suffer him to journey 
in our train. Besides,” she added, in a low and hurried 
voice, casting a glance at the distant Cora, who slowly 
followed the footsteps of their silent but sullen guide, “it 
may be a friend added to cur strength, in time of need.” 

‘‘Think you, Alice, that I would trust those I love by 
this secret path, did I imagine such need could happen?” 

‘‘Nay, nay, I think not of it now; but this strange man 
amuses me; and if he ‘hath music in his soul,’ let us not 
churlishly reject his company.” She pointed persuasively 
along the path with her riding-whip, while their eyes met 
in a look which the young man lingered a moment to pro- 
long; then, yielding to her gentle influence, he clapped his 
spurs into his charger, and in a few bounds was again 
at the side of Cora. 

‘‘I am glad to encounter thee, friend,” continued the 
maiden, waving her hand to the stranger to proceed, as 
she urged her Narragansett to renew its amble. ‘‘Partial 
relatives have almost persuaded me that I am not entirely 
worthless in a duet myself; and we may enliven our way- 
faring by indulging in our favorite pursuit. It might be 
of signal advantage to one ignorant as I, to hear the opin- 
ions and experience of a master in the art.” 

‘‘It is refreshing both to the spirits and to the body to 
indulge in psalmody, in befitting seasons,” returned the 
master of song, unhesitatingly complying with her intima- 
tion to follow; ‘‘and nothing would relieve the mind more 
than such a consoling communion. But four parts are 
altogether necessary to the perfection of melody. You 
have all the manifestations of a soft and rich treble; I can, 
by especial aid, carry a full tenor to the highest letter; but 
we lack counter and bass! Yon officer of the king, who 
hesitated to admit me to his company, might fill the latter, 
if one may judge from the intonations of his voice in 
common dialogue.” 

‘‘Judge not too rashly from hasty and deceptive appear- 
ances,” said the lady, smiling; ‘‘though Major Heyward 
can assume such deep notes on occasion, believe me, his 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 37 

natural tones are better fitted for a mellow tenor than the 
bass you heard.” 

‘Ts he, then, much practiced in the art of psalmody?” 
demanded her simple companion. 

Alice felt disposed to laugh, though she succeeded in 
suppressing her merriment, ere she answered, — 

“I apprehend that he is rather addicted to profane song. 
The chances of a soldier’s life are but little fitted for the 
encouragement of more sober inclinations.” 

“Man’s voice is given to him, like his other talents, to 
be used, and not to be abused. None can say they have 
ever known me neglect my gifts! I am thankful that, 
though my boyhood may be said to have been set apart, 
like the youth of the royal David, for the purposes of 
music, no syllable of rude verse has ever profaned my lips.” 

“You have, then, limited your efforts to sacred song?” 

“Even so. As the psalms of David exceed all other lan- 
guage, so does the psalmody that has been fitted to them by 
the divines and sages of the land, surpass all vain poetry. 
Happily, I may say that I utter nothing but the thoughts 
and the wishes of the King of Israel himself; for though 
the times may call for some slight changes, yet does this 
version which we use in the colonies of New England, so 
much exceed all other versions, that, by its richness, its 
exactness, and its spiritual simplicity, it approacheth, as 
near as may be, to the great work of the inspired writer. 
I never abide in any place, sleeping or waking, without an 
example of this gifted work. ’Tis the six-and-twentieth 
edition, promulgated' at Boston, Anno Domini, 1744; and 
is entitled, ‘The Psalms, Hymns, and Spiritual Songs of 
the Old and New Testaments; faithfully translated into 
English Metre, for the Use,' Edification, and Comfort of 
the Saints, in Public and Private, especially in New Eng- 
land.’ ” 

During this eulogium on the rare production of his 
native poets, the stranger had drawn the book from his 
pocket, and, fitting a pair of iron-rimmed spectacles to his 
nose, opened the volume with a care and veneration suited 
to its sacred purposes. Then, without circumlocution or 


38 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


apology, first pronouncing the word “Standish,” and plac- 
ing the unknown engine, already described, to his mouth, 
from which^ he drew a high, shrill sound, that was followed 
by an octave below, from his own voice, he commenced 
singing the following words, in full, sweet, and melodious 
tones, that set the music, the poetry, and even the uneasy 
motion of his ill-trained beast at defiance: — 

“How good it Is, O see, 

And how it pleaseth well. 

Together, e’en in unity. 

For brethren so to dwell. 

“It’s like the choice ointment 

From the head to the beard did go: 

Down Aaron’s beard, that downward went 
His garment’s skirts unto.’’ 

The delivery of these skillful rhymes was accompanied, 
on the part of the stranger, by a resular rise and fall of 
his right hand, which terminated at the descent by suffer- 
ing the fingers to dwell a moment on the leaves of the little 
volume; and on the ascent, by such a flourish of the mem- 
ber as none but the initiated may ever hope to imitate. It 
would seem that long practice had rendered this manual 
accompaniment necessary; for it did not cease until the 
preposition which the poet had selected for the close of his 
verse had been duly delivered like a word of tvvo syllables. 

Such an innovation on the silence and retirement of the 
forest could not fail to enlist the ears of those who jour- 
neyed at so short a distance in advance. The Indian 
muttered a few words in broken English to Heyward, who, 
in his turn, spoke to the stranger, at once interrupting, 
and, for the time, closing his musical efforts. 

“Though we are not in danger, common prudence would 
teach us to journey through this wilderness in as quiet a 
manner as possible. You will, then, pardon me, Alice, 
should I diminish your enjoyments by requesting this 
gentleman to postpone his chant until a safer opportunity.” 

“You will diminish them, indeed,” returned the arch 


1 Rearrange the preceding words, to remedy the comic suggestion. 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


39 


girl, “for never did I hear a more unworthy conjunction 
of execution and language than that to which I have been 
listening; and I was far gone in a learned inquiry into 
the causes of such an unfitness between sound and sense, 
when you broke the charm of my musings by that bass of 
yours, Duncan!” 

“I know not what you call my bass,” said Heyward, 
piqued at her remark, “but I know that your safety, and 
that of Cora, is far dearer to me than could be any orches- 
tra of Handel's music.” He paused and turned his head 
quickly toward a thicket, and then bent his eyes suspi- 
ciously on their guide, who continued his steady pace, in 
undisturbed gravity. The young man smiled to himself, 
for he believed he had mistaken some shining berry of the 
v/oods for the glistening eyeballs of a prov/ling savage, and 
he rode forward, continuing the conversation which had 
been interrupted by the passing thought. 

Major Heyward was mistaken only in suffering his 
youthful and generous pride to suppress his active watch- 
fulness. The cavalcade had not long passed, before the 
branches of the bushes that formed the thicket were cau- 
tiously moved asunder, and a human visage, as fiercely 
wild as savage art and unbridled passions could make it, 
peered out on the retiring footsteps of the travellers. A 
gleam of exultation shot across the darkly painted linea- 
ments of the inhabitant of the forest, as he traced the 
route of his intended victims, who rode unconsciously on- 
ward; the light and graceful forms of the females waving 
among the trees, in the curvatures of their path, followed 
at each bend by the manly figure of Heyward, until finally 
the shapeless person of the singing-master was concealed 
behind the numberless trunks of trees that rose, in dark 
lines, in the intermediate space. 


40 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


CHAPTER HI 

Before these fields were shorn and tilled, 

Full to the brim our rivers flowed; 

The melody of waters filled 
The fresh and boundless wood; 

And torrents dashed, and rivulets played, 

And fountains spouted in the shade. 

—Bryant. 

Leaving the unsuspecting Heyward and his confiding 
companions to penetrate still deeper into a forest that 
contained such treacherous inmates, we must use an au- 
thor’s privilege, and shift the scene a few miles to the 
westward of the place where we have last seen them. 

On that day, two men were lingering on the banks of a 
small but rapid stream, within an hour’s journey of the 
encampment of Webb, like those who awaited the appear- 
ance of an absent person or the approach of some expected 
event. The vast canopy of woods spread itself to the 
margin of the river, overhanging the water and shadowing 
its dark current with a deeper hue. The rays of the sun 
were beginning to gi’ow less fierce, and the intense heat of 
the day was lessened, as the cooler vapors of the springs 
and fountains rose above their leafy beds, and rested in 
the atmosphere. Still, that breathing silence which marks 
the drowsy sultriness of an American landscape in July 
pervaded the secluded spot, interrupted only by the low 
voices of the men, the occasional and lazy tap of a wood- 
pecker, the discordant cry of some gaudy jay, or a swell- 
ing on the ear from the dull roar of a distant waterfall. 

These feeble and broken sounds were, however, too 
familiar to the foresters to draw their attention from the 
more interesting matter of their dialogue. While one of 
these loiterers showed the red skin and wild accoutre- 
ments of a native of the woods, the other exhibited, through 
the mask of his rude and nearly savage equipments, the 
brighter, though sunburned and long-faded complexion of 
one who might claim descent from a European parentage. 
The former w'as seated on the end of a mossy log, in a 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


41 


posture that permitted him to heighten the effect of his 
earnest language hy the calm but expressive gestures of an 
Indian engaged in debate. His body, which was nearly 
naked, presented a terrific emblem of death, drawn in in- 
termingled colors of white and black. His closely shaved 
head, on which no other hair than the well-known and 
chivalrous scalping-tuft^ was preserved, was without orna- 
ment of any kind, with the exception of a solitary eagle’s 
plume that crossed his crown and depended over the left 
shoulder. A tomahawk and scalping-knife, of English 
manufacture, were in his girdle, while a short military 
rifle, of that sort with which the policy of the whites 
armed their savage allies, lay carelessly across his bare and 
sinewy knee. The expanded chest, full-formed limbs, and 
grave countenance of this warrior would denote that he 
had reached the vigor of his days, though no symptoms of 
decay appeared to have yet weakened his manhood. 

The frame of the white man, judging by such parts as 
were not concealed by his clothes, was like that of one who 
had known hardships and exertion from his earliest youth. 
His person, though muscular, was rather attenuated than 
full; but every nerve and muscle appeared strung and 
indurated by unremitted exposure and toil. He wore a 
hunting-shirt of forest green, fringed with faded yellow,* 
and a summer cap of skins which had been shorn of their 
fur. He also bore a knife in a girdle of wampum, like that 
which confined the scanty garments of the Indian, but no 
tomahawk. His moccasins were ornamented after the gay 
fashion of the natives, while the only part of his under- 

1 The North American warrior caused the hair to be plucked from 
his whole body; a small tuft, only, was left on the crown of his head 
in order that his enemy might avail himself of it, in wrenching off the 
scalp in the event of his fall. The scalp was the only admissible 
trophy of victory. Thus, it was deemed more important to obtain the 
scalp than to kill the man. Some tribes lay great stress on the honor 
of striking a dead body. These practices have nearly disappeared among 
the Indians of the Atlantic States. [Cooper’s note.] 

* The hunting-shirt is a picturesque smock frock, being* shorter, 
and ornamented with fringes and tassels. The colors are intended to 
Imitate the hues of the wood with a view to concealment. Many 
corps of American riflemen have been thus attired; and the dress is one 
of the most striking of modern times. The bunting-shirt is frequently 
white. [Cooper’s note.] 


42 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


dress which appeared below the hunting-frock was a pair 
of buckskin leggings that laced at the sides, and which 
were gartered above the knees with the sinews of a deer. 
A pouch and horn completed his personal accoutrements, 
though a rifle of great length,^ which the theory of the 
more ingenious whites had taught them was the most dan- 
gerous of all fire-arms, leaned against a neighboring sap- 
ling. The eye of the hunter, or scout, whichever he might 
be, was small, quick, keen, and restless, roving while he 
spoke, on every side of him, as if in quest of game or dis- 
trusting the sudden approach of some lurking enemy. 
Notwithstanding the symptoms of habitual suspicion, his 
countenance was not only without guile, but at the moment 
at which he is introduced it was charged with an expres- 
sion of sturdy honesty. 

“Even your traditions make the case in my favor, 
Chingachgook,”^ he said, speaking in the tongue which 
was known to all the natives who formerly inhabited the 
country between the Hudson and the Potomac, and of 
which we shall give a free translation for the benefit of the 
reader, endeavoring, at the same time, to preserve some of 
the peculiarities, both of the individual and of the lan- 
guage. “Your fathers came from the setting sun, crossed 
the big river,® fought the people of the country, and took 
the land; and mine came from the red sky of the morning, 
over the salt lake, and did their work much after the 
fashion that had been set them by yours; then let God 
judge the matter between us, and friends spare their 
words!” 

“My fathers fought with the naked red man!” returned 
the Indian sternly, in the same language. “Is there no 
difference, Hawkeye, between the stone-headed arrow of 
the warrior and the leaden bullet with which you kill?” 

“There is reason in an Indian, though nature has made 

^ The rifle of the army Is short; that of the hunter Is always long. 
[Cooper’s note.] 

- Chin-ga-gook'. 

3 The Mississippi. The scout alludes to a tradition which Is very 
popular among the tribes of the Atlantic States. Evidence of their 
Asiatic origin is deduced from the circumstances, though great un- 
certainty hangs over the whole history of the Indians. [Cooper’s note.] 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


43 


him v/itli a red skin!” said the white man, shaking his 
head like cne on whom such an appeal to his justice was 
not thrown away. For a moment he appeared to be con- 
scious of having the worst of the argument; then, rallying 
again, he answered the objection of his antagonist in the 
best manner his limited information would allow: “I am 
no scholar, and I care not who knows it; but judging from 
what I have seen, at deer chases and squirrel hunts, of 
the sparks below, I should think a rifle in the hands of 
their grandfathers was not so dangerous as a hickory bow 
and a good flint-head might be, if drawn with Indian judg- 
ment, and sent by an Indian eye.” 

“You have the story told by your fathers,” returned the 
other, coldly waving his hand. “What say your old men? 
Do they tell the young warriors that the pale-faces met 
the red men, painted for war and armed with the stone 
hatchet and w’ooden gun?” 

“I am not a prejudiced man, nor one who vaunts him- 
self on his natural privileges, though the worst enemy I 
have on earth, and he is an Iroquois, daren’t deny that 1 
am genuine white,” the scout replied, surveying, with 
secret satisfaction, the faded color of his bony and sinewy 
hand; “and I am willing to own that my people have many 
ways of which, as an honest man, I can’t approve. It is 
one of their customs to write in books what they have 
done and seen, instead of telling them in their villages, 
where the lie can be given to the face of a cowardly boaster, 
and the brave soldier can call on his comrades to witness 
for the truth of his words. In consequence of this bad 
fashion, a man who is too conscientious to misspend his 
days among the women in learning the names of black 
marks, may never hear of the deeds of his fathers, nor 
feel a pride in striving to outdo them. For myself, I con- 
clude the Bumppos could shoot, for I have a natural turn 
with the rifle, which must have been handed down from 
generation to generation, as, our holy commandments tell 
us, all good and evil gifts are bestowed; though I should 
be loath to answer for other people in such a matter. But 
every story has its two sides; so I ask you, Chingach- 


44 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


gook, what passed, according to the traditions of the 
red men, when our fathers first met?” 

A silence of a minute succeeded, during which the In- 
dian sat mute; then, full of the dignity of his office, he 
commenced his brief tale, with a solemnity that served to 
heighten its appearance of truth. 

“Listen, Hawkeye, and your ear shall drink no lie. 'Tis 
what my fathers have said, and what the Mohicans have 
done.” He hesitated a single instant, and bending a cau- 
tious glance toward his companion, he continued, in a 
manner that was divided between interrogation and as- 
sertion, “Does not this stream at our feet run toward the 
summer, until its waters grow salt, and the current fiows 
upward?” 

“It can’t be denied that your traditions tell you true in 
both these matters,” said the white man; “for I have been 
there, and have seen them; though why water, which is 
so sweet in the shade, should become bitter in the sun, 
is an alteration for which I have never been able to ac- 
count.” 

“And the current?” demanded the Indian, who expected 
his reply with that sort of interest that a man feels in 
the confirmation of testimony at which he marvels even 
while he respects it; “the fathers of Chingachgook have 
not lied!” 

“The Holy Bible is not more true, and that is the truest 
thing in nature. They call this up-stream current th6 
tide, which is a thing soon explained, and clear enough. 
Six hours the waters run in, and six hours they run out, 
and the reason is this: when there is higher water in the 
sea than in the river, they run in, until the river gets to 
be highest, and then it runs out again.” 

“The waters in the woods, and on the great lakes, run 
downward until they lie like my hand,” said the Indian, 
stretching the limb horizontally before him, “and then they 
run no more.” 

“No honest man will deny it,” said the scout, a little 
nettled at the implied distrust of his explanation of the 
mystery of the tides; “and I grant that it is true on the 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


45 


small scale, and where the land is level. But everything 
depends on what scale you look at things. Now, on the 
small scale, the ’arth is level; but on the large scale it is 
round. In this manner, pools and ponds, and even the 
great fresh-water lakes may be stagnant, as you and I 
both know they are, having seen them; but when you come 
to spread water over a great tract, like the sea, where the 
earth is round, how in reason can the water be quiet? 
You might as well expect the river to lie still on the brink 
of those black rocks a mile above us, though your own 
ears tell you that it is tumbling over them at this very 
moment!” 

If unsatisfied by the philosophy of his companion, the 
Indian was far too dignified to betray his unbelief. He 
listened like one who was convinced, and resumed his 
narrative in his former solemn manner. 

“We came from the place where the sun is hid at night, 
over great plains where the buffaloes live, until we reached 
the big river. There we fought the Alligewi, till the 
ground was red with their blood. From the banks of the 
big river to the shores of the salt lake, there was none 
to meet us. The Maquas followed at a distance. We said 
the country should be ours from the place where the 
water runs up no longer on this stream, to a river twenty 
suns’ journey toward the summer. The land we had taken 
like warriors, we kept like men. We drove the Maquas 
into the woods with the bears. They only tasted salt at 
the licks; they drew no fish from the great lake; we threw 
them the bones.” 

“All this I have heard and believe,” said the white man, 
observing that the Indian paused; “but it was long before 
the English came into the country.” 

“A pine grew then where this chestnut now stands. The 
first pale-faces who came among us spoke no English. 
They came in a large canoe, when my fathers had buried 
the tomahawk with the red men around them. Then, 
Hawkeye,” he continued, betraying his deep emotion only 
by permitting his voice to fall to those low, guttural tones 
which render his language, as spoken at times, so very 


46 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


musical; “then, Hawkeye, we were one people, and we 
were happy. The salt lake gave us its fish, the wood its 
deer, and the air its birds. We took wives who bore us 
children; we worshiped the Great Spirit; and we kept 
the Maquas beyond the sound of our songs of triumph!” 

“Know you anything of your own family at that time?” 
demanded the white. “But you are a just man, for an 
Indian; and, as I suppose you hold their gifts, your fath- 
ers must have been brave warriors, and wise men at the 
council fire.” 

“My tribe is the grandfather of nations, but I am an 
unmixed man. The blood of chiefs is in my veins, where 
it must stay forever. The Dutch landed, and gave my 
people the fire-water; they drank until the heavens and 
the earth seemed to meet, and they foolishly thought they 
had found the Great Spirit. Then they parted with their 
land. Foot by foot they were driven back from the shores, 
until I, that am a chief and a sagamore, have never seen 
the sun shine but through the trees, and have never visited 
the graves of my fathers!” 

“Graves bring solemn feelings over the mind,” returned 
the scout, a good ‘deal touched at the calm suffering of 
his companion; “and they often aid a man in his good 
intentions; though, for myself, I expect to leave my own 
bones unburied, to bleach in the woods, or to be torn 
asunder by the wolves. But where are to be found those 
of your race who came to their kin in the Delaware coun- 
try, so many summers since?” 

“Where are the blossoms of those summers! — fallen, one 
by one: so all of my family departed, each in his turn, to 
the land of spirits. I am on the hill-top, and must go 
down into the valley; and when Uncas follows in my foot- 
steps, there will no longer be any of the blood of the saga- 
mores, for my boy is the last of the Mohicans.” 

“Uncas is here!” said another voice, in the same soft, 
guttural tones, near his elbow; “who speaks to Uncas?” 

The white man loosened his knife in his leathern sheath, 
and made an involuntary movement of the hand toward 
his rifle, at this sudden interruption; but the Indian sat 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 47 

composed, and without turning his head at the unexpected 
sounds. 

At the next instant, a youthful warrior passed between 
them, with a noiseless step, and seated himself on the bank 
of the rapid stream. No exclamation of surprise escaped 
the father, nor was any question asked, or reply given, for 
several minutes; each appearing to await the moment 
when he might speak, without betraying womanish curios- 
ity or childish impatience. The white man seemed to take 
counsel from their customs, and, relinquishing his grasp 
of the rifle, he also remained silent and reserved. At 
length Chingachgook turned his eyes slowly toward his 
son, and demanded, — 

“Do the Maquas dare to leave the print of their mocca- 
sins in these woods?” 

“I have been on their trail,” replied the young Indian, 
“and know that they number as many as the fingers of 
my two hands; but they lie hid, like cowards.” 

“The thieves are out-lying for scalps and plunder!” 
said the white man, whom we shall call Hawkeye, after 
the manner of his companions. “That busy Frenchman, 
Montcalm, will send his spies into our very camp, but he 
will know what road we travel!” 

“’Tis enough!” returned the father, glancing his eye 
toward the setting sun; “they shall be driven like deer 
from their bushes. Hawkeye, let us eat to-night, and show 
the Maquas that we are men to-morrow.” 

“I am as ready to do the one as the other; but to fight 
the Iroquois 'tis necessary to find the skulkers; and to eat 
'tis necessary to get the game — talk of the devil and he 
will come; there is a pair of the biggest antlers I have 
seen this season, moving the bushes below the hill! Now, 
Uncas,” he continued in a half whisper, and laughing with 
a kind of inward sound, like one who had learned to be 
watchful, “I will bet my charger three times full of pow- 
der, against a foot of wampum, that I take him atwixt the 
eyes, and nearer to the right than to the left.” 

“It cannot be!” said the young Indian, springing to his 


48 THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 

feet with youthful eagerness; “all but the tips of his horns 
are hid!” 

“He’s a boy!” said the white man, shaking his head 
while he spoke, and addressing the father. “Does he think 
when a hunter sees a part of the creatur’, he can’t tell 
where the rest of him should be!” 

Adjusting his rifle, he was about to make an exhibition 
of that skill on which he so much valued himself, when 
the warrior struck up the piece with his hand, saying, — 

“Hawkeye! will you fight the Maquas?” 

“These Indians know the nature of the woods, as it 
might be by instinct!” returned the scout, dropping his 
rifle, and turning away like a man who was convinced of 
his error. “I must leave the buck to your arrow, Uncas, 
or we may kill a deer for them thieves, the Iroquois, to 
eat.” 

The instant the father seconded this intimation by an 
expressive gesture of the hand, Uncas threw himself on 
the ground, and approached the animal with wary move- 
ments. When within a few yards of the cover, he fitted an 
arrow to his bow with the utmost care, while the antlers 
moved, as if their owner snuffed an enemy in the tainted 
air. In another moment the twang of the cord was heard, 
a white streak was seen glancing into the bushes, and 
the wounded buck plunged from the cover to the very 
feet of his hidden enemy. Avoiding the horns of the in- 
furiated animal, Uncas darted to his side, and passed his 
knife across the throat, when bounding to the edge of 
the river it fell, dyeing the waters with its blood. 

“’Twas done with Indian skill,” said the scout, laugh- 
ing inwardly, but with vast satisfaction; “and ’twas a 
pretty sight to behold! Though an arrow is a near shot, 
and needs a knife to finish the work.” 

“Hugh!” ejaculated his companion, turning quickly, like 
a hound who scented game. 

“By the Lord, there is a drove of them!” exclaimed the 
scout, whose eyes began to glisten with the ardor of his 
usual occupation; “if they come within range of a bullet 
I will drop one, though the whole Six Nations should be 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


49 


lurking within sound! What do you hear, Chingachgook? 
for to my ears the woods are dumb.” 

“There is but one deer, and he is dead,” said the Indian, 
bending his body till his ear nearly touched the earth. 
“I hear the sounds of feet!” 

“Perhaps the wolves have driven the buck to shelter, 
and are following on his trail.” 

“No. The horses of wiiite men are coming!” returned 
the other, raising himself with dignity, and resuming his 
seat on the log with his former composure. “Hawkeye, 
they are your brothers; speak to them.” 

“That will I, and in English that the king needn’t be 
ashamed to answer,” returned the hunter, speaking in the 
language of which he boasted; “but I see nothing, nor do 
•I hear the sounds of man or beast; ’tis strange that an 
Indian should understand white sounds better than a man 
who, his very enemies will own, has no cross In his blood, 
although he may have lived with the red skins long enough 
to be suspected! Ha! there goes something like the crack- 
ing of a dry stick, too — now I hear the bushes move — yes, 
yes, there is a trampling that I mistook for the falls — and — 
but here they come themselves; God keep them from the 
Iroquois!” 


CHAPTER IV 

Well, go thy way; thou shalt not from this grove 
Till I torment thee for this injury. 

— Mi(lsummer-N’ight’.s Dream. 

The words were still in the mouth of the scout, when 
the leader of the party, whose approaching footsteps had 
caught the vigilant ear of the Indian, came openly into 
view. A beaten path, such as those made by the periodi- 
cal passage of the deer, wound through a little glen at 
no great distance, and struck the river at the point v/here 
the white man and his red companions had posted them- 
selves. Along this track the travellers, who had produced 
a surprise so unusual in the depths of the forest, ad- 
4 


50 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


vanced slowly toward the hunter, who was in front of 
his associates, in readiness to receive them. 

“Who comes?” demanded the scout, throwing his rifle 
carelessly across his left arm, and keeping the forefinger 
of his right hand on the trigger, though he avoided all 
appearance of menace in the act. “Who comes hither, 
among the beasts and dangers of the wilderness?” 

“Believers in religion, and friends to the law and to 
the king,” returned he who rode foremost. “Men who 
have journeyed since the rising sun, in the shades of this 
forest, without nourishment, and are sadly tired of their 
wayfaring.” 

“You are, then, lost,” interrupted the hunter, “and have 
found how helpless Tis not to know whether to take the 
right hand or the left?” 

“Even so; sucking babes are not more dependent on 
those who guide them than we who are of larger growth, 
and who may now be said to possess the stature without 
the knowledge of men. Know you the distance to a 
post of the crown called William Henry?” 

“Hoot!” shouted the scout, who did not spare his open 
laughter, though, instantly checking the dangerous sounds, 
he indulged his merriment at less risk of being overheard 
by any lurking enemies. “You are as much off the scent 
as a hound would be, with Horican atwixt him and the 
deer! William Henry, man! if you are friends to the 
king and have business with the army, your better way 
would be to follow the river down to Edward, and lay 
the matter before Webb, wdio tarries there, instead of 
pushing into the defiles, and driving this saucy Frenchman 
back across Champlain into his den again.” 

Before the stranger could make any reply to this un- 
expected proposition, another horseman dashed the bushes 
aside, and leaped his charger into the pathway, in front 
of his companion. 

“What, then, may be our distance from Fort Edward?” 
demanded a new speaker; “the place you advise us to seek 
we left this morning, nnd our destination is the head of 
the lake.” 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


51 


“Then you must have lost your eyesight afore losing 
your way, for the road across the portage is cut to a good 
two rods, and is as grand a path, I calculate, as any that 
runs into London, or even before the palace of the king 
himself.” 

“We will not dispute concerning the excellence of the 
passage,” returned Heyward, smiling; for, as the reader 
has anticipated, it was he. “It is enough, for the present, 
that we trusted to an Indian guide to take us by a nearer, 
though blinder path, and that we are deceived in his 
knowledge. In plain words, we know not where we are.” 

“An Indian lost in the woods!” said the scout, shaking 
his head doubtingly; “when the sun is scorching the tree- 
tops, and the v/ater-courses are full; when the moss on 
, every beech he sees will tell him in what quarter the 
north star will shine at night! The woods are full of deer 
paths which run to the streams and licks, places well known 
to everybody; nor have the geese done their flight to the 
Canada waters altogether! ’Tis strange that an Indian 
should be lost atwixt Horican and the bend in the river. 
Is he a Mohawk?” 

“Not by birth, though adopted in that tribe; I think his 
birthplace was farther north, and he is one of those you 
call a Huron.” 

“Hugh!” exclaimed the two companions of the scout, 
who had continued, until this part of the dialogue, seated 
immovable, and apparently indifferent to what passed, but 
v/ho now sprang to their feet with an activity and in- 
terest that had evidently got the better of their reserve, by 
surprise. 

“A Huron!” repeated the sturdy scout, once more shak- 
ing his head in open distrust; “they are a thievish race, 
nor do I care by whom they are adopted; you can never 
make anything of them but skulks and vagabonds. Since 
you trusted yourself to the care of one of that nation, I 
only wonder that you have not fallen in with more.” 

“Of that there is little danger, since William Henry is 
so many miles in our front. You forget that I have told 


52 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


you our guide is now a Mohawk, and that he serves with 
our forces as a friend.” 

“And I tell you that he who is born a Mingo will die a 
Mingo,” returned the other positively. “A Mohawk! No, 
give me a Delaware or a Mohican for honesty; and when 
they will fight, which they won’t all do, having suffered 
their cunning enemies, the Maquas, to make them women, 
— but when they will fight at all, look to a Delaware, or 
a Mohican, for a warrior!” 

“Enough of this,” said Heyward, impatiently; “I wish 
not to inquire into the character of a man that I know, 
and to whom you must be a stranger. You have not yet 
answered my question; what is our distance from the main 
army at Edward?” 

“It seems that may depend on who is your guide. One 
would think such a horse as that might get over a good 
deal of ground atwixt sun-up and sun-down.” 

“I wish no contention of idle words with you, friend,” 
said Heyward, curbing his dissatisfied manner, and speak- 
ing in a more gentle voice; “if you will tell me the dis- 
tance to Fort Edward, and conduct me thither, your labor 
shall not go without its reward.” 

“And in so doing, how know I that I don’t guide an 
enemy, and a spy of Montcalm, to the works of the army? 
It is not every man who can speak the English tongue 
that is an honest subject.” 

“If you serve with the troops of whom I judge you to 
be a scout, you should know of such a regiment of the 
king as the 60th.” 

“The 60th! you can tell me little of the Royal Ameri- 
cans that I don’t know, though I do wear a hunting-shirt 
instead of a scarlet jacket.” 

“Well, then, among other things, you may know the 
name of its major?” 

“Its major!” interrupted the hunter, elevating his body 
like one who was proud of his trust. “If there is a man 
in the country v/ho knows Major Effingham, he stands 
before you.” 

“It is a corps which has many majors; the gentleman 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


53 


you name is the senior, but I speak of the junior of them 
all; he who commands the companies in garrison at Will- 
iam Henry.” 

“Yes, yes, I have heard that a young gentleman of vast 
riches, from one of the provinces far south, has got the 
place. He is over young, too, to hold such rank, and to 
be put above men whose heads are beginning to bleach; 
and yet they say he is a soldier in his knowledge, and a 
gallant gentleman!” 

“Whatever he may be, or however he may be qualified 
for his rank, he now speaks to you, and of course can be 
no enemy to dread.” 

The scout regarded Heyward in surprise, and then lifting 
his cap, he answered, in a tone less confident than before, 
though still expressing doubt, — 

“I have heard a party was to leave the encampment this 
morning for the lake shore?” 

“You have heard the truth; but I preferred a nearer 
route, trusting to the knowledge of the Indian I men- 
tioned.” 

“And he deceived you, and then deserted?” 

“Neither, as I believe; certainly not the latter, for he is 
to be found in the rear.” 

“I should like to look at the creator’; if it is a true 
Iroquois I can tell him by his knavish look, and by his 
paint,” said the scout, stepping past the charger of Hey- 
ward, and entering the path behind the mare of the singing- 
master, whose foal had taken advantage of the halt to exact 
the maternal contribution. After shoving aside the bushes, 
and proceeding a few paces, he encountered the females, 
who awaited the result of the conference with anxiety, and 
not entirely without apprehension. Behind these the run- 
ner leaned against a tree, where he stood the close exami- 
nation of the scout, with an air unmoved, though with a 
look so dark and savage that it might in itself excite fear. 
Satisfied with his scrutiny, the hunter soon left him. As 
he repassed the females, he paused a moment to gaze upon 
their beauty, answering to the smile and nod of Alice with 
a look of open pleasure. Thence he went to the side of th© 


54 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


motherly animal, and spending a minute in a fruitless 
inquiry into the character of her rider, he shook his head 
and returned to Heyward. 

“A Mingo is a Mingo, and God having made him so, 
neither the Mohawks nor any other tribe can alter him,” 
he said, when he had regained his former position. ‘Tf 
we were alone, and you would leave that noble horse at the 
mercy of the wolves to-night, I could show you the way to 
Edward, myself, within an hour, for it lies only about an 
hour’s journey hence; but with such ladies in your com- 
pany ’tis impossible!” 

“And why? they are fatigued, but they are quite equal 
to a ride of a few more miles.” 

“’Tis a natural impossibility!” repeated the scout; “I 
wouldn’t walk a mile in these woods after night gets into 
them, in company with that runner, for the best rifle in the 
colonies. They are full of out-lying Iroquois, and your 
mongrel Mohawk knows where to And them too well to be 
my companion.” 

“Think you so?” said Heyward, leaning forward in the 
saddle, and dropping his voice nearly to a whisper; “I 
confess I have not been without my own suspicions, though 
I have endeavored to conceal them, and affected a confi- 
dence I have not always felt, on account of my companions. 
It was because I suspected him that I would follow no 
longer, making him, as you see, follow me.” 

“I knew he was one of the cheats as soon as I laid eyes 
on him!” returned the scout, placing a finger on his nose, 
in sign of caution. “The thief is leaning against the foot 
of the sugar sapling, that you can see over them bushes; 
his right leg is in a line v/ith the bark of the tree, and,” 
tapping his rifle, “I can take him from where I stand, be- 
tween the ankle and the knee, with a single shot, putting 
an end to his tramping through the woods, for at least a 
month to come. If I should go back to him, the cunning 
varmint would suspect something, and be dodging through 
the trees like a frightened deer.” 

“It will not do. He may be innocent, and I dislike the 
act. Though, if I felt confident of his treachery — ” 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


55 


“ ’Tis a safe thing to calculate on the knavery of an Iro- 
quois,” said the scout, throwing his rifle forward, by a sort 
of instinctive movement. 

“Hold!” interrupted Heyward, “it will not do — we must 
think of some other scheme; and yet I have much reason 
to believe the rascal has deceived me.” 

The hunter, who had already abandoned his intention of 
maiming the runner, mused a moment, and then made a 
gesture which instantly brought his two red companions 
to his side. They spoke together earnestly in the Delaware 
language, though in an undertone; and by the gestures of 
the white man, which were frequently directed towards the 
top of the sapling, it was evident he pointed out the sit- 
uation of their hidden enemy. His companions were not 
long in comprehending his wishes, and laying aside their 
flre-arms they parted, taking opposite sides of the path, 
and burying themselves in the thicket, with such cautious 
movements that their steps were inaudible. 

“Now, go you back,” said the hunter, speaking again to 
Heyward, “and hold the imp in talk; these Mohicans here 
will take him without breaking his paint.” 

“Nay,” said Heyward, proudly, “I will seize him my- 
self.” 

“Hist! what could you do, mounted, against an Indian 
in the bushes?” 

“I will dismount.” 

“And, think you, when he saw one of your feet out of 
the stirrup, he would wait for the other to be free? Who- 
ever comes into the woods to deal v/ith the natives, must 
use Indian fashions, if he would wish to prosper in his 
undertakings. Go, then, talk openly to the miscreant, and 
seem to believe him the truest friend you have on ’arth.” 

Heyward prepared to comply, though with strong dis- 
gust at the nature of the office he was compelled to execute. 
Each moment, however, pressed upon him a conviction of 
the critical situation in which he had suffered his invalu- 
able trust to be involved through his own confldence. The 
sun had already disappeared, and the woods, suddenly 


56 


THE LAST OF THE xMOHICANS. 


rleprived of his light/ were assuming a dusky hue, which 
keenly reminded him that the hour the savage usually 
chose for his most barbarous and remorseless acts of ven- 
geance or hostility was speedily drawing near. Stimulated 
by apprehension, he left the scout, who immediately en- 
tered into a loud conversation with the stranger that had 
so unceremoniously enlisted himself in the party of 
travellers that morning. In passing his gentler com- 
panions Heyward uttered a few words of encouragement, 
and was pleased to find that, though fatigued with the 
exercise of the day, they appeared to entertain no suspicion 
that their present embarrassment was other than the result 
of accident. Giving them reason to believe he was merely 
employed in a consultation concerning the future route, 
he spurred his charger, and drew the reins again when the 
animal had carried him within a few yards of the place 
where the sullen runner still stood, leaning against the 
tree. 

“You may see, Magua,” he said, endeavoring to assume 
an air of freedom and confidence, “that the night is closing 
around us, and yet we are no nearer to William He'nry than 
when we left the encampment of Webb with the rising sun. 
You have missed the way, nor have I been more fortunate. 
But, happily, we have fallen in with a hunter, he whom you 
hear talking to the singer, that is acquainted with the 
deer-paths and by-ways of the woods, and who promises to 
lead us to a place where we may rest securely till the 
morning.” 

The Indian riveted his glowing eyes on Heyward as he 
asked, in his imperfect English, “Is he alone?” 

“Alone!” hesitatingly answered Heyward, to whom de- 
ception was too new to be assumed without embarrassment. 
“Oh! not alone, surely, Magua, for you know that we are 
with him.” 

“Then Le Renard Subtil* will go,” returned the runner, 
coolly raising his little wallet from the place where it had 

1 The scene of this tale was in the 42d degree of latitude, where the 
twilight Is never of long continuance. [Cooper’s note,] 

- The Cunning Fox. 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 57 

lain at his feet; “and the pale-faces will see none but their 
own color.” 

“Go! Whom call you Le Renard?” 

“ 'Tis the name his Canada fathers have given to Magua,” 
returned the runner, with an air that manifested his pride 
at the distinction. “Night is the same as day to Le Subtil, 
v/hen Munro waits for him.” 

“And what account will Le Renard give the chief of 
William Henry concerning his daughters? Will he dare 
to tell the hot-blooded Scotsman that his children are left 
without a guide, though Magua promised to be one?” 

“Though the gray head has a loud voice, and a long arm, 
Le Renard will not hear him, or feel him, in the woods.” 

“But what will the Mohawks say? They will make him 
petticoats, and bid him stay in the wigwam with the women, 
for he is no longer to be trusted with the business of a 
man.” 

“Le Subtil knows the path to the great lakes, and he can 
find the bones of his fathers,” was the answer of the un- 
moved runner. 

“Enough, Magua,” said Heyward; “are we not friends? 
Why should there be bitter words between us? Munro 
has promised you a gift for your services when performed, 
and I shall be your debtor for another. Rest your weary 
limbs, then, and open your wallet to eat. We have a few 
moments to spare; let us not waste them in talk like wrang- 
ling women. When the ladies are refreshed we will pro- 
ceed.” 

“The pale-faces make themselves dogs to their women,” 
muttered the Indian, in his native language, “and when 
they want to eat, their warriors must lay aside the toma- 
hawk to feed their laziness.” 

“What say you, Renard?” 

“Le Subtil says it is good.” 

The Indian then fastened his eyes keenly on the open 
countenance of Heyward, but, meeting his glance, he 
turned them quickly away, and seating himself deliberately 
on the ground he drew forth the remnant of some former 


68 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


repast and began to eat, though not without first bonding 
his looks slowly and cautiously around him. 

“This is well,” continued Heyward; “and Le Renard 
will have strength and sight to find the path in the morn- 
ing.” He paused, for sounds like the snapping of a dried 
stick, and the rustling of leaves, rose from the adjacent 
bushes, but recollecting himself instantly, he continued, — 
“We must be moving before the sun is seen, or Montcalm 
may lie in our path, and shut us out from the fortress.” 

The hand of Magua dropped from his mouth to his side, 
and though his eyes were fastened on the ground, his head 
was turned aside, his nostrils expanded, and his ears seemed 
even to stand more erect than usual, giving to him the ap- 
pearance of a statue that was made to represent intense 
attention. 

Heyward, who watched his movements with a vigilant 
eye, carelessly extricated one of his feet from the stirrup, 
while he passed a hand toward the bear-skin covering of 
his holsters. Every effort to detect the point most regarded 
by the runner was completely frustrated by the tremulous 
glances of his organs, which seemed not to rest a single 
instant on any particular object, and which, at the same 
time, could be hardly said to move. While he hesitated 
how to proceed, Le Subtil cautiously raised himself to his 
feet, though with a motion so slow and guarded that not 
the slightest noise was produced by the change. Heyward 
felt it had now become incumbent on him to act. Throwing 
his leg over the saddle, he dismounted, with a determina- 
tion to advance and seize his treacherous companion, trust- 
ing the result to his own manhood. In order, however, to 
prevent unnecessary alarm, he still preserved an air of 
calmness and friendship. 

“Le Renard Subtil does not eat,” he said, using the 
appellation he had found most flattering to the vanity of 
the Indian. “His corn is not well parched, and it seems 
dry. Let me examine; perhaps something may be found 
among my own provisions that will help his appetite.” 

Magua held out the wallet to the proffer of the other. 
He even suffered their hands to meet, without betraying 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


59 


the least emotion, or varying his riveted attitude of atten- 
tion. But when he felt the fingers of Heyward moving 
gently along his own naked arm, he struck up the limb of 
the young man, and uttering a piercing cry he darted be- 
neath it, and plunged, at a single bound, into the ‘opposite 
thicket. At the next instant the form of Chingachgook 
appeared from the bushes, looking like a spectre in its 
paint, and glided across the path in swift pursuit. Next 
followed the shout of Uncas, when the woods were lighted 
by a sudden fiash that was accompanied by the sharp report 
of the hunter’s rifle. 


CHAPTER V 

In such a night 

Did Thisbe fearfully o’ertrip the dew. 

And saw the lion’s shadow ere himself. 

—Merchant of Venice. 

The suddenness of the flight of his guide, and the wild 
cries of the pursuers, caused Heyward to remain fixed, for 
a few moments, in inactive surprise. Then, recollecting 
the importance of securing the fugitive, he dashed aside 
the surrounding bushes and pressed eagerly forward to 
lend his aid in the chase. Before he had, however, pro- 
ceeded a hundred yards, he met the three foresters already 
returning from their unsuccessful pursuit. 

“Why so soon disheartened!” he exclaimed; “the scoun- 
drel must be concealed behind some of these trees, and 
may yet be secured. We are not safe while he goes at 
large.” 

“Would you set a cloud to chase the wind?” returned 
the disappointed scout; “I heard the imp, brushing over 
the dry leaves, like a black snake, and blinking a glimpse 
of him, just over ag’in yon big pine, I pulled as it might be 
on the scent; but ’twouldn’t do! and yet for a reasoning 
aim, if anybody but myself had touched the trigger, I 
should call it a quick sight; and I may be accounted to 
have experience in these matters, and one who ought to 
know. Look at this sumach; its leaves are red, though 


60 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


everybody knows the fruit is in the yellow blossom, in the 
month of July!” 

“ ’Tis the blood of Le Subtil! he is hurt, and may yet 
fall!” 

“No, no,” returned the scout, in decided disapprobation 
of this opinion, “I rubbed the bark off a limb, perhaps, but 
the creature leaped the longer for it. A rifle bullet acts 
on a running animal, when it barks him, much the same as 
one of your spurs on a horse; that is, it quickens motion, 
and puts life into the flesh, instead of taking it away. But 
v/hen it cuts the ragged hole, after a bound or two, there is, 
commonly, a stagnation of further leaping, be it Indian or 
be it deer!” 

“We are four able bodies, to one wounded man!” 

“Is life grievous to you?” interrupted the scout. “Yon- 
der red devil would draw you within swing of the toma- 
hawks of his comrades, before you were heated in the chase. 
It was an unthoughtful act in a man who has so often slept 
with the war-whoop ringing in the air, to let off his piece 
within sound of an ambushment! But then it was a natu- 
ral temptation! ’twas very natural! Come, friends, let us 
move our station, and in such fashion, too, as will throw 
the cunning of a Mingo on a wrong scent, or our scalps will 
be drying in the wind in front of Montcalm’s marquee,' 
ag’in this hour to-morrow.” 

This appalling declaration, which the scout uttered with 
the cool assurance of a man who fully comprehended, while 
he did not fear to face, the danger, served to remind Hey- 
ward of the importance of the charge with which he him- 
self had been intrusted. Glancing his eyes around, with a 
vain effort to pierce the gloom that was thickening beneath 
the leafy arches of the forest, he felt as if, cut off from 
human aid, his unresisting companions would soon lie at 
the entire mercy of those barbarous enemies, who, like 
beasts of prey, only waited till the gathering darkness 
might render their blows more fatally certain. His awak- 
ened imagination, deluded by the deceptive light, converted 


1 Mar-kay: an officer’s tent. 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


61 


each waving bush, or the fragment of some fallen tree, 
into human forms; and twenty times he fancied he could 
distinguish the horrid visages of his lurking foes, peering 
from their hiding-places in never-ceasing watchfulness of 
the movements of his party. Looking upward, he found 
that the thin fleecy clouds, which evening had painted on 
the blue sky, were already losing their faintest tints of rose- 
color, while the imbedded stream, which glided past the 
spot where he stood, was to be traced only by the dark 
boundary of its wooded banks. 

“What is to be done?” he said, feeling the utter help- 
lessness of doubt in such a pressing strait; “desert me not, 
for God’s sake! remain to defend those I escort, and freely 
name your own reward!” 

His companions, who conversed apart in the language 
of their tribe, heeded not this sudden and earnest appeal. 
Though their dialogue was maintained in low and cautious 
sounds, but little above a whisper, Heyward, who now 
approached, could easily distinguish the earnest tones of 
the younger warrior from the more deliberate speeches of 
his seniors. It was evident that they debated on the pro- 
priety of some measure that nearly concerned the welfare 
of the travellers. Yielding to his powerful interest in the 
subject, and impatient of a delay that seemed fraught with 
so much additional danger, Heyward drew still nigher to 
the dusky group, with an intention of making his offers 
of compensation more deflnite, when the white man, 
motioning with his hand, as if he conceded the disputed 
point, turned away, saying in a sort of soliloquy, and in the 
English tongue, — 

“Uncas is right! it would not be the act of men to leave 
such harmless things to their fate, even though it breaks 
up the harboring place forever. If you would save these 
tender blossoms from the fangs of the worst of sarpents, 
gentleman, you have neither time to lose nor resolution to 
throw away!” 

“How can such a wish be doubted? have I not already 
offered — ” 

“Offer your prayers to Him who can give us wisdom to 


62 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


circumvent the cunning of the devils who fill these woods,” 
calmly interrupted the scout, “but spare your offers of 
money, which neither you may live to realize, nor I to profit 
by. These Mohicans and I will do what man’s thoughts 
can invent, to keep such flowers, which, though so sweet, 
were never made for the wilderness, from harm, and that 
without hope of any other recompense but such as God 
always gives to upright dealings. First, you must promise 
two things, both in your own name and for your friends, 
or without serving you, we shall only injure ourselves!” 

“Name them.” 

“The one is, to be still as these sleeping woods, let what 
will happen; and the other is, to keep the place where we 
shall take you forever a secret from all mortal men.” 

“I will do my utmost to see both these conditions ful- 
filled.” 

“Then follow, for we are losing moments that are as pre- 
cious as the heart’s blood to a stricken deer!” 

Heyward could distinguish the impatient gesture of the 
scout, through the increasing shadow's of the evening, and 
he moved in his footsteps, swiftly, toward the place w'here 
he had left the remainder of his party. When they rejoined 
the expecting and anxious females, he briefly acquainted 
them with the conditions of their new guide, and wdth 
the necessity that existed for their hushing every appre- 
hension in instant and serious exertions. Although his 
alarming communication was not received without much 
secret terror by the listeners, his earnest and impressive 
manner, aided perhaps by the nature of the danger, suc- 
ceeded in bracing their nerves to undergo some unlooked- 
for and unusual trial. Silently, and without a moment’s 
delay, they permitted him to assist them from their saddles, 
when they descended quickly to the water’s edge, where 
the scout had collected the rest of the party, more by the 
agency of expressive gestures than by any use of words. 

“What to do with these dumb creatures!” muttered the 
w'hite man, on whom the sole control of their future move- 
ments appeared to devolve; “it w^ould be time lost to cut 
their throats and cast them into the river; and to leave 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 63 

them here would be to tell the Mingoes that they have not 
far to seek to find their owners!” 

“Then give them their bridles, and let them range the 
woods,” Heyward ventured to suggest. 

“No; it would be better to mislead the imps, and make 
them believe they must equal a horse’s speed to run down 
their chase. Ay, ay, that will blind their fire-balls of eyes! 
Chingach — Hist! what stirs the bush?” 

“The colt.” 

“That colt, at least, must die,” muttered the scout, 
grasping at the mane of the nimble beast, which easily 
eluded his hand; “Uncas, your arrows!” 

“Hold!” exclaimed the proprietor of the condemned 
animal, aloud, without regard to the whispering tones 
used by the others; “spare the foal of Miriam! it is the 
comely offspring of a faithful dam, and would willingly 
injure naught.” 

“When men struggle for the single life God has given 
them,” said the scout sternly, “even their own kind seem 
no more than the beasts of the wood. If you speak again 
I shall leave you to the mercy of the Maquas! Draw to 
your arrow’s head, Uncas; we have no time for second 
blows.” 

The low, muttering sounds of his threatening voice were 
still audible, when the wounded foal, first rearing on its 
hinder legs, plunged forward to its knees. It was met by 
Chingachgook, whose knife passed across its throat quicker 
than thought, and then precipitating the motions of the 
struggling victim, he dashed it into the river, down whose 
stream it glided away, gasping audibly for breath with its 
ebbing life. This deed of apparent cruelty, but of real 
necessity, fell upon the spirits of the travellers like a terrific 
warning of the peril in which they stood, heightened as it 
was by the calm though steady resolution of the actors in 
the scene. The sisters shuddered and clung closer to each 
other, while Heyward instinctively laid his hand on one of 
the pistols he had just drawn from their holsters, as he 
placed himself between his charge and those dense shadows 


64 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


that seemed to draw an impenetrable veil before the bosom 
of the forest. 

The Indians, however, hesitated not a moment, but, tak- 
ing the bridles, they led the frightened and reluctant horses 
into the bed of the river. 

At a short distance from the shore they turned, and were 
soon concealed by the projection of the bank, under the 
brow of which they moved in a direction opposite to the 
course of the waters. In the meantime, the scout drew a 
canoe of bark from its place of concealment beneath some 
low bushes, whose branches were waving with the eddies of 
the current, into which he silently motioned for the females 
to enter. They complied without hesitation, though many 
a fearful and anxious glance was thrown behind them 
toward the thickening gloom which now lay like a dark 
barrier along the margin of the stream. 

So soon as Cora and Alice were seated, the scout, without 
regarding the element, directed Heyward to support one 
side of the frail vessel, and posting himself at the other, 
they bore it up against the stream, followed by the dejected 
owner of the dead foal. In this manner they proceeded 
for many rods in a silence that was only interrupted by the 
rippling of the w'ater, as its eddies played around them, or 
the low dash made by their own cautious footsteps. Hey- 
v/ard yielded the guidance of the canoe implicitly to the 
scout, who approached or receded from the shore, to avoid 
the fragments of rocks, or deeper parts of the river, with a 
readiness that showed his knowledge of the route they held. 
Occasionally he w'ould stop, and in the midst of a breathing 
stillness, that the dull but increasing rear of the waterfall 
only served to render more impressive, he w^ould listen with 
painful intenseness to catch any sounds that might arise 
from the slumbering forest. When assured that all was 
still, and unable to detect, even by the aid of his practiced 
senses, any sign of his approaching foes, he w^ould deliber- 
ately resume his slow and guarded progress. At length 
they reached a point in the river where the roving eye of 
Heyward became riveted on a cluster of black objects, col- 
lected at a spot where the high bank threw a deeper shadow 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 65 

than usual on the dark waters. Hesitating to advance, he 
pointed out the place to the attention of his companion. 

“Ay,” returned the composed scout, “the Indians have 
hid the beasts wdth the judgment of natives! Water leaves 
no trail, and an owl’s eyes would be blinded by the dark- 
ness of such a hole.” 

The whole party was soon reunited, and another consul- 
tation was held between the scout and his new comrades, 
during which they whose fates depended on the faith and 
ingenuity of these unknown foresters had a little leisure to 
observe their situation more minutely. 

The river was confined between high and cragged rocks, 
one of which impended above the spot where the canoe 
rested. As these, again, were surmounted by tall trees, 
which appeared to totter on the brows of the precipice, it 
gave the stream the appearance of running through a deep 
and narrow dell. All beneath the fantastic limbs and rag- 
ged tree-tops which were, here and there, dimly painted 
against the starry zenith, lay alike in shadowed obscurity. 
Behind them, the curvature of the banks soon bounded 
the view by the same dark and wooded outline; but ih 
front, and apparently at no great distance, the water 
seemed piled against the heavens, whence it tumbled into 
caverns out of which issued those sullen sounds that had 
loaded the evening atmosphere. It seemed, in truth, to 
be a spot devoted to seclusion, and the sisters imbibed a 
soothing impression of security as they gazed upon its 
romantic, though not unappalling beauties. A general 
movement among their conductors, however, soon recalled 
them from a contemplation of the wild charms that night 
had assisted to lend the place, to a painful sense of their 
real peril. 

The horses had been secured to some scattering shrubs 
that grew in the fissures of the rocks, where, standing in 
the water, they were left to pass the night. The scout 
directed Heyward and his disconsolate fellow travellers to 
seat themselves in the forward end of the canoe, and took 
possession of the other himself, as erect and steady as if he 
fioated in a vessel of much firmer materials. The Indians 
5 


66 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


warily retraced their steps toward the place they had left, 
when the scout, placing his pole against a rock, by a power- 
ful shove sent his frail bark directly into the centre of the 
turbulent stream. For many minutes the struggle between 
the light bubble in which they floated, and the swift cur- 
rent, was severe and doubtful. Forbidden to stir even a 
hand, and almost afraid to breathe, lest they should ex- 
pose the frail fabric to the fury of the stream, the passen- 
gers watched the glancing waters in feverish suspense. 
Twenty times they thought the whirling eddies were sweep- 
ing them to destruction, when the master-hand of their 
pilot would bring the bows of the canoe to stem the rapid. 
A long, a vigorous, and, as it appeared to the females, a 
desperate effort closed the struggle. Just as Alice veiled 
her eyes in horror, under the impression that they were 
about to be swept within the vortex at the foot of the 
cataract, the canoe floated, stationary, at the side of a flat 
rock, that lay on a level with the water. 

“Where are we? and what is next to be done?” de- 
manded Heyward, perceiving that the exertions of the scout 
had ceased. 

“You are at the foot of Glenn’s,” returned the other, 
speaking aloud, without fear of consequences, within the 
roar of the cataract; “and the next thing is to make a 
steady landing, lest the canoe upset, and you should go 
down again the hard road we have travelled, faster than 
you came up; ’tis a hard rift to stem, when the river is a 
little swelled; and flve is an unnatural number to keep 
dry, in a hurry-skurry, with a little birchen bark and gum. 
There, go you all on the rock, and I will bring up the Mo- 
hicans with the venison. A man had better sleep without 
his scalp than famish in the midst of plenty.” 

His passengers gladly complied with these directions. As 
the last foot touched the rock, the canoe whirled from its 
station, when the tall form of the scout was seen, for an 
instant, gliding above the waters before it disappeared in 
the impenetrable darkness that rested on the bed of the 
river. Left by their guide, the travellers remained a few 
minutes in helpless ignorance, afraid even to move along 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


67 


the broken rocks lest a false step should precipitate them 
down some one of the many deep and roaring caverns into 
which the water seemed to tumble on every side of them. 
Their suspense, however, was soon relieved; for, aided 
by the skill of the natives, the canoe shot back into the 
eddy, and floated again at the side of the low rock before 
they thought the scout had even time to rejoin his com- 
panions. 

“We are now fortifled, garrisoned, and provisioned,” 
cried Heyward, cheerfully, “and may set Montcalm and 
his allies at defiance. How now, my vigilant sentinel; can 
you see anything of those you call the Iroquois, on the 
mainland?” 

“I call them Iroquois, because to me every native who 
speaks a foreign tongue is accounted an enemy, though he 
may pretend to serve the king! If Webb wants faith and 
honesty in an Indian, let him bring out the tribes of the 
Delawares, and send these greedy and lying Mohawks and 
Oneidas, with their six nations of varlets, where in nature 
they belong, among the French!” 

“We should then exchange a warlike for a useless friend! 
I have heard that the Delawares have laid aside the hatchet, 
and are content to be called women!” 

“Ay, shame on the Hollanders^ and Iroquois, who cir- 
cumvented them by their deviltries into such a treaty! But 
I have known them for twenty years, and I call him liar 
that says cowardly blood runs in the veins of a Delaware. 
You have driven their tribes from the sea-shore, and would 
now believe what their enemies say, that you may sleep at 
night upon an easy pillow. No, no; to me, every Indian 
who speaks a foreign tongue is an Iroquois, whether the 
castle^ of his tribe be in Canada or be in York.” 

Heyward, perceiving that the stubborn adherence of the 
scout to the cause of his friends the Delawares or Mohi- 
cans, for they were branches of the same numerous people, 

1 The reader will remember that New York was originally a colony 
of the Dutch, [Cooper’s note.] 

2 The principal villages of the Indians are still called “castles” by 
the whites of New York. “Oneida castle” is no more than a scattered 
hamlet; but the name is in general use. [Cooper’s note.] 


68 THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 

was likely to prolong a useless discussion, changed the 
subject. 

“Treaty or no treaty, I know full well that your two 
companions are brave and cautious warriors! Have they 
heard or seen anything of our enemies?” 

“An Indian is a mortal to be felt afore he is seen,” re- 
turned the scout, ascending the rock, and throwing the 
deer carelessly down. “I trust to other signs than such as 
come in at the eye, when I am outlying on the trail of the 
Mingoes.” 

“Do your ears tell you that they have traced our re- 
treat?” 

“I should be sorry to think they had, though this is 
a spot that stout courage might hold for a smart scrim- 
mage. I will not deny, however, but the horses cowered 
when I passed them, as though they scented the wolves; 
and a wolf is a beast that is apt to hover about an Indian 
ambushment, craving the offals of the deer the savages 
kill.” 

“You forget the buck at your feet! or, may we not owe 
their visit to the dead colt? Ha! what noise is that?” 

“Poor Miriam!” murmured the stranger; “thy foal was 
foreordained to become a prey to ravenous beasts!” Then, 
suddenly lifting up his voice, amid the eternal din of 
the waters, he sang aloud, — 

“First born of Egypt, smite did He 
Of mankind, and of beast also; 

Oh, Egypt! wonders sent ’midst thee 
On Pharaoh and his servants too!’’ 

“The death of the colt sits heavy on the heart of its 
owner,” said the scout; “but it’s a good sign to see a man 
account upon his dumb friends. He has the religion of the 
matter, in believing what is to happen will happen; and 
with such a consolation, it won’t be long afore he submits 
to the rationality of killing a four-footed beast to save the 
lives of human men. It may be as you say,” he continued, 
reverting to the purport of Heyward’s last remark; “and 
the greater the reason why we should cut our steaks, and let 
the carcass drive down the stream, or we shall have the 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


69 


pack hoYv^ling along the cliffs, begrudging every mouthful 
we swallow. Besides, though the Delaware tongue is the 
same as a book to the Iroquois, the cunning varlets are 
quick enough at understanding the reason of a wolf’s 
howl.” 

The scout, whilst making his remarks, was busied in 
collecting certain necessary implements; as he concluded, 
he moved silently by the group of travellers, accompanied 
by the Mohicans, who seemed to comprehend his intentions 
with instinctive readiness, when the whole three disap- 
peared in succession, seeming to vanish against the dark 
face of a perpendicular rock that rose to the height of a 
few yards within as many feet of the water’s edge. 


CHAPTER VI 

Those strains that once did sweet in Zion giide, 

He wales ^ a portion with judicious care; 

And “Let us worship God!” he says with solemn air. 

—Burns. 

Heyward and his female companions witnessed this 
mysterious movement with secret uneasiness; for, though 
the conduct of the white man had hitherto been above 
reproach, his rude equipments, blunt address, and strong 
antipathies, together with the character of his silent asso- 
ciates, were all causes for exciting distrust in minds that 
had been so recently alarmed by Indian treachery. 

The stranger alone disregarded the passing incidents. 
He seated himself on a projection of the rocks, whence he 
gave no other signs of consciousness than by the struggles 
of his spirit, as manifested in frequent and heavy sighs. 
Smothered voices were next heard, as though men called to 
each other in the bowels of the earth, when a sudden light 
flashed upon those without, and laid bare the much-prized 
secret of the place. 

At the further extremity of a narrow, deep cavern in the 
rock, whose length appeared much extended by the per- 


1 Chooses. 


70 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


spective and the nature of the light by which it was seen, 
was seated the scout, holding a blazing knot of pine. The 
strong glare of the fire fell full upon his sturdy, weather- 
beaten countenance and forest attire, lending an air of 
romantic wildness to the aspect of an individual who, 
seen by the sober light of day, would have exhibited the 
peculiarities of a man remarkable for the strangeness of 
his dress, the iron-like inflexibility of his frame, and the 
singular compound of quick, vigilant sagacity and of ex- 
quisite simplicity that by turns usurped the possession of 
his muscular features. At a little distance in advance 
stood Uncas, his whole person thrown powerfully into view. 
The travellers anxiously regarded the upright, flexible flg- 
ure of the young Mohican, graceful and unrestrained in 
the attitudes and movements of nature. Though his per- 
son was more than usually screened by a green and 
fringed hunting-shirt, like that of the white man, there was 
no concealment to his dark, glancing, fearless eye, alike 
terrible and calm; the bold outline of his high, haughty 
features, pure in their native red; or to the dignified eleva- 
tion of his receding forehead, together with all the finest 
proportions of a noble head, bared to the generous scalping 
tuft. It was the first opportunity possessed by Duncan 
and his companions to view the marked lineaments of 
either of their Indian attendants; and each individual of 
the party felt relieved from a burden of doubt as the proud 
and determined, though wild, expression of the features of 
the young warrior forced itself on their notice. They felt 
it might be a being partially benighted in the vale of ig- 
norance, but it could not be one who would willingly devote 
his rich natural gifts to the purposes of wanton treachery. 
The ingenuous Alice gazed at his free air and proud car- 
riage as she would have looked upon some precious relic of 
the Grecian chisel, to which life had been imparted by the 
intervention of a miracle; while Heyward, though accus- 
tomed to see the perfection of form which abounds among 
the uncorrupted natives, openly expressed his admiration 
at such an unblemished specimen of the noblest proportions 
of man. 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


71 


“I could sleep in peace,” whispered Alice, in reply, 
“with such a fearless and generous looking youth for my 
sentinel. Surely, Duncan, those cruel murders, those ter- 
rific scenes of torture, of which we read and hear so much, 
are never acted in the presence of such as he!” 

“This, certainly, is a rare and brilliant instance of those 
natural qualities in which these peculiar people are said to 
excel,” he answered. “I agree with you, Alice, in think- 
ing that such a front and eye were formed rather to intimi- 
date than to deceive/ but let us not practice a deception 
upon ourselves by expecting any other exhibition of what 
we esteem virtue than according to the fashion of a savage. 
As bright examples of great qualities are but too uncommon 
among Christians, so are they singular and solitary with the 
Indians; though, for the honor of our common nature, 
neither are incapable of producing them. Let us then hope 
that this Mohican may not disappoint our wishes, but 
prove, what his looks assert him to be, a brave and con- 
stant friend.” 

“Now Major Heyward speaks as Major Heyward should,” 
said Cora; “who that looks at this creature of nature 
remembers the shade of his skin!” 

A short and apparently an embarrassed silence succeeded 
this remark, which was interrupted by the scout calling to 
them, aloud, to enter. 

“This fire begins to show too bright a fiame,” he con- 
tinued, as they complied, “and might light the Mingoes to 
our undoing. Uncas, drop the blanket and show the knaves 
its dark side. This is not such a supper as a major of the 
Royal Americans has a right to expect, but I’ve known 
stout detachments of the corps glad to eat their venison 
raw, and without a relish too.^ Here, you see, we have 
plenty of salt, and can make a quick broil. There’s fresh 


1 In vulgar parlance the condiments of a repast are called by the 

American "a relish,” substituting the thing for its effect. These 

provincial terms are frequently put in the mouths of the speakers, 
according to their several conditions in life. Most of them are of 

local use. and others quite peculiar to the particular class of men to 

which the character belongs. In the present instance, the scout uses 
the word with Immediate reference to the salt, with which his own 
party was so fortunate as to be provided. [Cooper’s note.] 


72 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


sassafras boughs for the ladies to sit on, which may not be 
as proud as their my-hog-guinea chairs, but which sends up 
a sweeter flavor than the skin of any hog can do, be it of 
Guinea, or be it of any other land. Come, friend, don’t be 
mournful for the colt; ’twas an innocent thing, and had 
not seen much hardship. Its death will save the creature 
many a sore back and weary foot!” 

Uncas did as the other had directed, and when the voice 
of Hawkeye ceased, the roar of the cataract sounded like 
the rumbling of distant thunder. 

“Are we quite safe in this cavern?” demanded Hey- 
ward. “Is there no danger of surprise? A single armed 
man, at its entrance, would hold us at his mercy.” 

A spectral-looking figure stalked from out the darkness 
behind the scout, and seizing a blazing brand, held it 
toward the further extremity of their place of retreat. 
Alice uttered a faint shriek, and even Cora rose to her feet, 
as this appalling object moved into the light; but a single 
word from Heyward calmed them, with the assurance it 
was only their attendant, Chingachgook, who, lifting 
another blanket, discovered that the cavern had two outlets. 
Then, holding the brand, he crossed a deep, narrow chasm 
in the rocks, which ran at right angles with the passage 
they were in, but which, unlike that, was open to the 
heavens, and entered another cave, answering to the de- 
scription of the first in every essential particular. 

“Such old foxes as Chingachgook and myself are not 
often caught in a burrow with one hole,” said Hawkeye, 
laughing; ‘‘you can easily see the cunning of the place — 
the rock is black limestone, which everybody knows is soft; 
it makes no uncomfortable pillow, where brush and pine 
wood is scarce; well, the fall was once a few yards below 
us, and I dare to say was, in its time, as regular and as 
handsome a sheet of water as any along the Hudson. But 
old age is a great injury to good looks, as these sweet 
young ladies have yet to Tarn! The place is sadly changed! 
These rocks are full of cracks, and in some places they are 
softer than at othersome, and the water has worked out 
deep hollows for itself, until it has fallen back, ay, some 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 73 

hundred feet, breaking here and wearing there until the 
falls have neither shape nor consistency.” 

‘Tn what part of them are we?” asked Heyward. 

‘‘Why, we are nigh the spot that Providence first placed 
them at, but where, it seems, they were too rebellious to 
stay. The rock proved softer on each side of us, and so 
they left the centre of the river bare and dry, first working 
out these two little holes for us to hide in.” 

‘‘We are then on an island?” 

‘‘Ay! there are the falls on two sides of us, and the river 
above and below. If you had daylight, it would be worth 
the trouble to step up on the height of this rock and look 
at the perversity of the water. It falls by no rule at all; 
sometimes it leaps, sometimes it tumbles; there it skips; 
here it shoots; in one place ’tis white as snow, and in 
another 'tis green as grass; hereabouts, it pitches into deep 
hollows that rumble and crush the ’arth; and thereaways 
it ripples and sings like a brook, fashioning whirlpools and 
gulleys in the old stone as if ’twas no harder than trodden 
clay. The whole design of the river seems disconcerted. 
First it runs smoothly, as if meaning to go down the 
descent as things were ordered; then it angles about and 
faces the shores; nor are there places wanting where it 
looks backward, as if unwilling to leave the wilderness 
to mingle with the salt! Ay, lady, the fine cobweb- 
looking cloth you wear at your throat is coarse and like 
a fish-net to little spots I can show you, where the river 
fabricates all sorts of images, as if, having broke loose 
from order, it would try its hand at everything. And yet 
what does it amount to! After the water has been suffered 
to have its will, for a time, like a headstrong man, it is 
gathered together by the hand that made it, and a few rods 
below you may see it all, fiowing on steadily toward the sea, 
as was foreordained from the first foundation of the 'arth!” 

While his auditors received a cheering assurance of the 
security of their place of concealment, from this untutored 
description of Glenn's,^ they were much inclined to judge 


^ Glenn’s Palls are on the Hudson, some forty or fifty miles above 
the head of tide, or the place where that river becomes navigable for 


74 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


differently from Hawkeye, of its wild beauties. But they 
were not in a situation to suffer their thoughts to dwell on 
the charms of natural objects; and, as the scout had not 
found it necessary to cease his culinary labors while he 
spoke, unless to point out, with a broken fork, the direction 
of some particularly obnoxious point in the rebellious 
stream, they now suffered their attention to be drawn to 
the necessary, though more vulgar consideration of their 
supper. 

The repast, which was greatly aided by the addition of a 
few delicacies that Heyward had the precaution to bring 
with him when they left their horses, was exceedingly 
refreshing to the weary party. Uncas acted as attendant 
to the females, performing all the little offices within his 
power with a mixture of dignity and anxious grace that 
served to amuse Heyward, who well knew that it was an 
utter innovation on the Indian customs, which forbid their 
warriors to descend to any menial employment, especially 
in favor of their women. As the rites of hospitality were, 
however, considered sacred among them, this little de- 
parture from the dignity of manhood excited no audible 
comment. Had there been one there sufficiently disen- 
gaged to become a close observer, he might have fancied 
that the services of the young chief were not entirely im- 
partial; that while he tendered to Alice the gourd of 
sweet water and the venison in a trencher, neatly carved 
from the knot of the pepperidge, with sufficient courtesy, 
in performing the same offices to her sister his dark eye 
lingered on her rich, speaking countenance. Once or 
twice he was compelled to speak, to command the attention 
of those he served. In such cases, he made use of English, 

sloops. The description of this picturesque and remarkable little 
cataract, as given by the scout, is suflBciently correct, though the 
application of the water to the uses of civilized life has materially 
injured its beauties. The rocky island and the two caverns are well 
known to every traveller, since the former sustains a pier of a bridge, 
which is now thrown across the river, immediately above the faU. In 
explanation of the taste of Hawkeye, it should be remembered that 
men always prize that most which is least enjoyed. Thus, in a new 
country, the woods and other objects, which in an old country would 
be maintained at great cost, are got rid of, simply with a view of 
“improving,” as it is called. [Cooper’s note.] 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


75 


broken and imperfect, but suflSciently intelligible, and 
which he rendered so mild and musical, by his deep,^ gut- 
tural voice, that it never failed to cause both ladies to look 
up in admiration and astonishment. In the course of 
these civilities a few sentences were exchanged that served 
to establish the appearance of an amicable intercourse be- 
tween the parties. 

In the meanwhile, the gravity of Chingachgook remained 
immovable. He had seated himself more within the circle 
of light, where the frequent uneasy glances of his guests 
were better enabled to separate the natural expression of 
his face from the artificial terrors of the war paint. They 
found a strong resemblance between father and son, with 
the difference that might be expected from age and hard- 
ships. The fierceness of his countenance now seemed to 
slumber, and in its place was to be seen the quiet, vacant 
composure which distinguishes an Indian warrior when his 
faculties are not required for any of the greater purposes of 
his existence. It was, however, easy to be seen, by the occa- 
sional gleams that shot across his swarthy visage, that it 
was only necessary to arouse his passions in order to give 
full effect to the terrific device which he had adopted to 
intimidate his enemies. On the other hand, the quick, 
roving eye of the scout seldom rested. He ate and drank 
with an appetite that no sense of danger could disturb, but 
his vigilance seemed never to desert him. Twenty times 
the gourd or the venison was suspended before his lips, 
while his head was turned aside, as though he listened to 
some distant and distrusted sounds — a movement that 
never failed to recall his guests from regarding the novelties 
of their situation, to a recollection of the alarming reasons 
that had driven them to seek it. As these frequent pauses 
were never followed by any remark, the momentary uneas- 
iness they created quickly passed away, and for a time was 
forgotten. 

“Come, friend,” said Hawkeye, drawing out a keg from 
beneath a cover of leaves, towards the close of the repast, 

^ The meaning of Indian words is much governed by the emphasis 
and tones. [Cooper’s note.] 


76 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


and addressing the stranger who sat at his elbow, doing 
great justice to his culinary skill, “try a little spruce; ’twill 
wash away all thoughts of the colt, and quicken the life in 
your bosom. I drink to our better friendship, hoping that 
a little horse-flesh may leave no heartburnings atween us. 
How do you name yourself?” 

“Gamut — David Gamut,”^ returned the singing-master, 
preparing to wash down his sorrows in a powerful draught 
of the woodman’s high-flavored and well-laced compound. 

“A very good name, and, I dare say, handed down from 
honest forefathers. I’m an admirator of names, though the 
Christian fashions fall far below savage customs in this par- 
ticular. The biggest coward I ever knew was called Lyon; 
and his wife. Patience, would scold you out of hearing in 
less time than a hunted deer would run a rod. With an 
Indian ’tis a matter of conscience; what he calls himself, 
he generally is — not that Chingachgook, which signifles 
Big Sarpent, is really a snake, big or little; but that he 
understands the windings and turnings of human natur’, 
and is silent, and strikes his enemies when they least expect 
him. What may be your calling?” 

“I am an unworthy instructor in the art of psalmody.” 

“Anan!”" 

“I teach singing to the youths of the Connecticut levy.” 

“You might be better employed. The young hounds 
go laughing and singing too much already through the 
woods, when they ought not to breathe louder than a fox 
in his cover. Can you use the smooth bore, or handle the 
rifle?” 

“Praised be God, I have never had occasion to meddle 
with murderous implements!” 

“Perhaps you understand the compass, and lay down the 
water-courses and mountains of the wilderness on paper, in 
order that they who follow may find places by their given 
names?” 

“I practice no such employment.” 

1 Why does Cooper call the singer “Dayid” and "Gamut”? 

2 Possibly, Anon. Here equivalent to "I beg your pardon!” This 
quaint old expression was at least more courteous than the growling 
"How?” which too often nowadays takes the place of "I beg your 
pardon!” 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


77 


“You have a pair of legs that might make a long path 
seem short! you journey sometimes, I fancy, with tidings 
for the general.” 

“Never; I follow no other than my own high vocation, 
which is instruction in sacred music!” 

“ ’Tis a strange calling!” muttered Hawkeye, with an 
inward laugh, “to go through life like a catbird, mocking 
all the ups and downs that may happen to come out of 
other men’s throats. Well, friend, I suppose it is your gift, 
and mustn’t be denied any more than if ’twas shooting, or 
some other better inclination. Let us hear what you can 
do in that way; ’twill be a friendly manner of saying good- 
night, for ’tis time that these ladies should be getting 
strength for a hard and a long push, in the pride of the 
morning, afore the Maquas are stirring!” 

“With joyful pleasure do I consent,” said David, adjust- 
ing his iron-rimmed spectacles, and producing his beloved 
little volume, which he immediately tendered to Alice. 
“What can be more fitting and consolatory than to offer 
up evening praise after a day of such exceeding jeopardy!” 

Alice smiled; but regarding Heyward, she blushed and 
hesitated. 

“Indulge yourself,” he whispered: “ought not the sug- 
gestion of the worthy namesake of the Psalmist to have its 
weight at such a moment?” 

Encouraged by his opinion, Alice did what her pious in- 
clinations and her keen relish for gentle sounds had before 
so strongly urged. The book was open at a hymn not 
ill adapted to their situation, and in which the poet, no 
longer goaded by his desire to excel the inspired king of 
Israel, had discovered some chastened and respectable pow- 
ers. Cora betrayed a disposition to support her sister, and 
the sacred song proceeded, after the indispensable prelimi- 
naries of the pitch-pipe and the tune had been duly at- 
tended to by the methodical David. 

The air was solemn and slow. At times it rose to the 
fullest compass of the rich voices of the females, who hung 
over their little book in holy excitement, and again it sank 
so low that the rushing of the waters ran through their 


78 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


melody, like a hollow accompaniment. The natural taste 
and true ear of David governed and modified the sounds 
to suit the confined cavern, every crevice and cranny of 
which was filled with the thrilling notes of their flexible 
voices. The Indians riveted their eyes on the rocks, and 
listened with an attention that seemed to turn them into 
stone. But the scout, who had placed his chin in his hand 
with an expression of cold indifference, gradually suffered 
his rigid features to relax, until, as verse succeeded verse, 
he felt his iron nature subdued, while his recollection was 
carried back to boyhood, when his ears had been accus- 
tomed to listen to similar sounds of praise, in the settle- 
ments of the colony. His roving eyes began to moisten, 
and before the hymn was ended, scalding tears rolled out 
of fountains that had long seemed dry, and followed each 
other down those cheeks that had oftener felt the storms 
of heaven than any testimonials of weakness. The singers 
were dwelling on one of those low, dying chords which the 
ear devours with such greedy rapture, as if conscious that 
it is about to lose them, when a cry that seemed neither 
human nor earthly rose in the outward air, penetrating 
not only the recesses of the cavern, but to the inmost hearts 
of all who heard it. It was followed by a stillness appar- 
ently as deep as if the waters had been checked in their 
furious progress at such a horrid and unusual interruption. 

“What is it?” murmured Alice, after a few moments of 
terrible suspense. 

“What is it?” repeated Heyward aloud. 

Neither Hawkeye nor the Indians made any reply. They 
listened, as if expecting the sound would be repeated, 
with a manner that expressed their own astonishment. At 
length they spoke together earnestly, in the Delaware lan- 
guage, when Uncas, passing by the inner and most con- 
cealed aperture, cautiously left the cavern. When he had 
gone, the scout first spoke in English. 

“What it is, or what it is not, none here can tell, though 
two of us have ranged the woods for more than thirty 
years! I did believe there was no cry that Indian or 
beast could make, that my ears had not heard; but this 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


79 


has proved that I was only a vain and conceited mortal!” 

“Was it not, then, the shout the warriors make when 
they wish to intimidate their enemies?” asked Cora, who 
stood drawing her veil about her person with a calmness to 
W’hich her agitated sister was a stranger. 

“No, no; this was bad, and shocking, and had a sort of 
unhuman sound; but when you once hear the war-whoop, 
you will never mistake it for anything else! Well, Un- 
cas!” speaking in Delaware to the young chief as he re- 
entered, “what see you? do our lights shine through the 
blankets?” 

The answer was short, and apparently decided, being 
given in the same tongue. 

“There is nothing to be seen without,” continued Hawk- 
eye, shaking his head in discontent; “and our hiding-place 
is still in darkness! Pass into the other cave, you that 
need it, and seek for sleep; we must be afoot long before 
the sun, and make the most of our time to get to Edward, 
while the Mingoes are taking their morning nap.” 

Cora set the example of compliance, with a steadiness 
that taught the more timid Alice the necessity of obedience. 
Before leaving the place, however, she whispered a request 
to Duncan that he would follow. Uncas raised the blanket 
for their passage, and as the sisters turned to thank him 
for this act of attention, they saw the scout seated again 
before the dying embers, with his face resting on his hands, 
in a manner which showed how deeply he brooded on the 
unaccountable interruption which had broken up their even- 
ing devotions. 

Heyward took with him a blazing knot, which threw a 
dim light through the narrow vista of their new apartment. 
Placing it in a favorable position, he joined the females, 
who now found themselves alone with him for the first 
time since they had left the friendly ramparts of Fort 
Edward. 

“Leave us not, Duncan,” said Alice; “we cannot sleep 
in such a place as this, with that horrid cry still ringing in 
our ears!” 


80 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


“First let us examine into the security of your fortress,’* 
he answered, “and then we will speak of rest.” 

He approached the further end of the cavern, to an out- 
let which, like the others, was concealed by blankets, and, 
removing the thick screen, breathed the fresh and reviving 
air from the cataract. One arm of the river flowed through 
a deep, narrow ravine, which its current had worn in the 
soft rock, directly beneath his feet, forming an effectual 
defense, as he believed, against any danger from that quar- 
ter; the water, a few rods above them, plunging, glanc- 
ing, and sweeping along in its most violent and broken 
manner. 

“Nature has made an impenetrable barrier on this side,” 
he continued, pointing down the perpendicular declivity 
into the dark current, before he dropped the blanket; “and 
as you know that good men and true are on guard in front, 
I see no reason why the advice of our honest host should 
be disregarded. I am certain Cora will join me in saying 
that sleep is necessary to you both.” 

“Cora may submit to the justice of your opinion, though 
she cannot put it in practice,” returned the elder sister, 
who had placed herself by the side of Alice, on a couch of 
sassafras; “there would be other causes to chase away sleep, 
though we had been spared the shock of this mysterious 
noise. Ask yourself, Heyward, can daughters forget the 
anxiety a father must endure, whose children lodge he 
knows not where or how, in such a wilderness, and in the 
midst of so many perils?” 

“He is a soldier, and knows how to estimate the chances 
of the woods.” 

“He is a father, and cannot deny his nature.” 

“How kind has he ever been to all my follies! how ten- 
der and indulgent to all my wishes!” sobbed Alice. “We 
have been selflsh, sister, in urging our visit at such haz- 
ard!” 

“I may have been rash in pressing his consent in a mo- 
ment of much embarrassment, but I would have proved to 
him that, however others might neglect him in his strait, 
his children at least were faithful!” 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


81 


“When he heard of your arrival at Edward,” said Hey- 
ward, kindly, “there was a powerful struggle in his bosom 
between fear and love; though the latter, heightened, if 
possible, by so long a separation, quickly prevailed. Tt is 
the spirit of my noble-minded Cora that leads them, Dun- 
can,’ he said, ‘and I will not balk it. Would to God that 
he who holds the honor of our royal master in his guard- 
ianship^ would show but half her firmness!’” 

“And did he not speak of me, Heyward?” demanded 
Alice, with jealous affection. “Surely, he forgot not alto- 
gether his little Elsie?” 

“That were impossible,” returned the young man; “he 
called you by a thousand endearing epithets that I may not 
presume to use, but to the justice of which I can warmly 
testify. Once, indeed, he said — ” 

Duncan ceased speaking, for while his eyes were riveted 
on those of Alice, who had turned toward him with the 
eagerness of filial affection to catch his words, the same 
strong, horrid cry as before filled the air and rendered him 
mute. A long, breathless silence succeeded, during which 
each looked at the others in fearful expectation of hearing 
the sound repeated. At length the blanket was slowly 
raised, and the scout stood in the aperture with a counte- 
nance whose firmness evidently began to give way, before a 
mystery that seemed to threaten some danger against which 
all his cunning and experience might prove of no avail. 


CHAPTER VII . 

They do not sleep. 

On yonder cliffs, a grisly band, 

I see them sit. —Gray. 

“ ’Twould be neglecting a warning that is given for our 
good, to lie hid any longer,” said Hawkeye, “when such 
sounds are raised in the forest! These gentle ones may keep 
close, but the Mohicans and I will watch upon the rock, 

1 Apparently referring to Webb. 

6 


82 THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 

where I suppose a major of the 60th would wish to keep us 
company.” 

“Is then our danger so pressing?” asked Cora. 

“He who makes strange sounds, and gives them out for 
man’s information, alone knows our danger. I should 
think myself wicked, unto rebellion against His will, was I 
to burrow with such warnings in the air! Even the weak 
soul who passes his days in singing is stirred by the cry, 
and, as he says, is ‘ready to go forth to the battle.’ If 
’twere only a battle, it would be a thing understood by us 
all, and easily managed; but I have heard that when such 
shrieks are atween heaven and ’arth, it betokens another 
sort of warfare!” 

“If all our reasons for fear, my friend, are confined to 
such as proceed from supernatural causes, we have but little 
occasion to be alarmed,” continued the undisturbed Cora; 
“are you certain that our enemies have not invented some 
new and ingenious method to strike us with terror, that 
their conquest may become more easy?” 

“Lady,” returned the scout, solemnly, “I have listened 
to all the sounds of the woods for thirty years, as a man 
will listen whose life and death depend on the quickness of 
his ears. There is no whine of the panther, no whistle of 
the catbird, nor any invention of the devilish Mingoes, that 
can cheat me! I have heard the forest moan like mortal 
men in their affliction; often and again have I listened to 
the wind playing its music in the branches of the girdled 
trees; and I have heard the lightning cracking in the air, 
like the snapping of blazing brush, as it spitted forth sparks 
and forked flames; but never have I thought that I heard 
more than the pleasure of Him who sported with the things 
of His hand. But neither the Mohicans, nor I, who am a 
white man without a cross,^ can explain the cry just heard. 
We, therefore, believe it a sign given for our good.” 

“It is extraordinary!” said Heyward, taking his pistols 
from the place where he had laid them on entering; “be 
It a sign of peace or a signal of war, it must be looked to. 
Lead the way, my friend; I follow.” 

1 Hawkeye’s favorite boast, Cf. p. 43. 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


83 


On issuing from their place of confinement, the whole 
party instantly experienced a grateful renovation of spir- 
its, by exchanging the pent air of the hiding-place for the 
cool and invigorating atmosphere which played around the 
w'hirlpools and pitches of the cataract. A heavy evening 
breeze swept along the surface of the river, and seemed to 
drive the roar of the falls into the recesses of their own 
cavern, whence it issued heavily and constant, like thunder 
rumbling beyond the distant hills. The moon had risen, 
and its light was already glancing here and there on the 
waters above them; but the extremity of the rock where 
they stood still lay in shadow. With the exception of the 
sounds produced by the rushing waters, and an occasional 
breathing of the air, as it murmured past them in fitful cur- 
rents, the scene was as still as night and solitude could 
make it. In vain were the eyes of each individual bent 
along the opposite shores in quest of some signs of life that 
might explain the nature of the interruption they had 
heard. Their anxious and eager looks were baffled by the 
deceptive light, or rested only on naked rocks and straight 
and immovable trees. 

“Here is nothing to be seen but the gloom and quiet 
of a lovely evening,” whispered Duncan; “how much 
should we prize such a scene, and all this breathing soli- 
tude, at any other moment, Cora! Fancy yourselves in 
security and what now, perhaps, increases your terror, may 
be made conducive to enjoyment — ” 

“Listen!” interrupted Alice. 

The caution was unnecessary. Once more the same sound 
arose, as if from the bed of the river, and, having broken 
out of the narrow bounds of the cliffs, was heard undulat- 
ing through the forest, in distant and dying cadences. 

“Can any here give a name to such a cry?” demanded 
Hawkeye, when the last echo was lost in the woods; “if 
so, let him speak; for myself, I judge it not to belong to 
'arth!” 

“Here, then, is one who can undeceive you,” said Dun- 
can; “I know the sound full well, for often have I heard it 
on the field of battle, and in situations which are frequent 


84 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


in a soldier’s life. ’Tis the horrid shriek that a horse will 
give in his agony; oftener drawn from him in pain, though 
sometimes in terror. My charger is either a prey to the 
beasts of the forest, or he sees his danger, without the 
power to avoid it. The sound might deceive me in the 
cavern, but in the open air I know it too well to be 
wrong.” 

The scout and his companions listened to this simple ex- 
planation with the interest of men who imbibe new ideas, 
at the same time that they get rid of old ones, which had 
proved disagreeable inmates. The two latter uttered their 
usual expressive exclamation, “Hugh!” as the truth first 
glanced upon their minds, while the former, after a short 
musing pause, took upon himself to reply. 

‘T cannot deny your words,” he said; “for I am little 
skilled in horses, though born where they abound. The 
wolves must be hovering above their heads on the bank, 
and the timorsome creatures are calling on man for help, in 
the best manner they are able. Uncas,” — he spoke in 
Delaware — “Uncas, drop down in the canoe, and whirl a 
brand among the pack; or fear may do what the wolves 
can’t get at to perform, and leave us without horses in the 
morning, when we shall have so much need to journey 
swiftly!” 

The young native had already descended to the water to 
comply, when a long howl was raised on the edge of the 
river, and wms borne swiftly off into the depths of the 
forest, as though the beasts, of their own accord, were 
abandoning their prey in sudden terror. Uncas, with in- 
stinctive quickness, receded, and the three foresters held an- 
other of their low, earnest conferences. 

“We have been like hunters who have lost the points of 
the heavens, and from whom the sun has been hid for 
days,” said Hawkeye, turning away from his companions; 
“now we begin again to know the signs of our course, and 
the paths are cleared from briers! Seat yourselves in the 
shade which the moon throws from yonder beech — ’tis 
thicker than that of the pines — and let us wait for that 
which the Lord may choose to send next. Let all your 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


85 


conversation be in whispers; though it would be better, 
and perhaps, in the end, wiser, if each one held discourse 
with his own thoughts, for a time.” 

The manner of the scout was seriously impressive, 
though no longer distinguished by any signs of unmanly 
apprehension. It was evident that his momentary weak- 
ness had vanished with the explanation of a mystery which 
his own experience had not served to fathom; and though 
he now felt all the realities of their actual condition, that 
he was prepared to meet them with the energy of his hardy 
nature. This feeling seemed also common to the natives, 
who placed themselves in positions which commanded a 
full view of both shores, while their own persons were 
effectually concealed from observation. In such circum- 
stances, common prudence dictated that Heyward and his 
companions should imitate a caution that proceeded from 
so intelligent a source. The young man drew a pile of the 
sassafras from the cave, and, placing it in the chasm which 
separated the two caverns, it was occupied by the sisters, 
who were thus protected by the rocks from any missiles, 
while their anxiety was relieved by the assurance that no 
danger could approach without a warning. Heyward him- 
self was posted at hand, so near that he might communicate 
with his companions without raising his voice to a danger- 
ous elevation, while David, in imitation of the woodsmen, 
bestowed his person in such a manner among the fissures 
of the rocks that his ungainly limbs were no longer offen- 
sive to the eye. 

In this manner hours passed without further inter- 
ruption. The moon reached the zenith, and shed its mild 
light perpendicularly on the lovely sight of the sisters 
slumbering peacefully in each other’s arms. Duncan cast 
the wide shawl of Cora before a spectacle he so much 
loved to contemplate, and then suffered his own head to 
seek a pillow on the rock. David began to utter sounds 
that would have shocked his delicate organs in more wake- 
ful moments; in short, all but Hawkeye and the Mohicans 
lost every idea of consciousness, in uncontrollable drowsi- 
ness. But the watchfulness of these vigilant protectors 


86 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


neither tired nor slumbered. Immovable as that rock of 
which each appeared to form a part they lay, with their 
eyes roving without intermission along the dark margin of 
trees that bounded the adjacent shores of the narrow 
stream. Not a sound escaped them; the most subtle 
examination could not have told they breathed. It was 
evident that this excess of caution proceeded from an ex- 
perience that no subtlety on the part of their enemies could 
deceive. It was, however, continued without any apparent 
consequences, until the moon had set, and a pale streak 
above the tree-tops, at the bend of the river a little below, 
announced the approach of day. 

Then, for the first time, Hawkeye was seen to stir. He 
crawled along the rock, and shook Duncan from his heavy 
slumbers. 

“Now is the time to journey,” he whispered; “awake 
the gentle ones, and be ready to get into the canoe when I 
bring it to the landing-place.” 

“Have you had a quiet night?” said Heyward; “for 
myself, I believe sleep has got the better of my vigilance.” 

“All is yet still as midnight. Be silent, but be quick.” 

By this time Duncan was thoroughly awake, and he im- 
mediately lifted the shawl from the sleeping females. The 
motion caused Cora to raise her hand as if to repulse him, 
while Alice murmured, in her soft, gentle voice, “No, no, 
dear father, we were not deserted; Duncan was with us!” 

“Yes, sweet innocence,” whispered the youth; “Duncan 
is here, and while life continues or danger remains, he will 
never quit thee. Cora! Alice! awake! The hour has come 
to move!” 

A loud shriek from the younger of the sisters, and the 
form of the other standing upright before him, in be- 
wildered horror, was the unexpected answer he received. 
While the words were still on the lips of Heyward, there 
had arisen such a tumult of yells and cries as served to drive 
the swift currents of his own blood back from its bounding 
course into the fountains of his heart. It seemed, for near 
a minute, as if the demons of hell had possessed themselves 
of the air about them, and were venting their savage 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


87 


humors in barbarous sounds. The cries came from no par- 
ticular direction, though it was evident they filled the 
woods, and, as the ‘appalled listeners easily imagined, the 
caverns of the falls, the rocks, the bed of the river, and the 
upper air. David raised his tall person in the midst of the 
infernal din, with a hand on either ear, exclaiming — 

“Whence comes this discord? Has hell broke loose, 
that man should utter sounds like these?” 

The bright fiashes and the quick reports of a dozen rifies, 
from the opposite banks of the stream, followed this incau- 
tious exposure of his person, and left the unfortunate sing- 
ing-master senseless^ on that rock where he had been so 
long slumbering. The Mohicans boldly sent back the in- 
timidating yell of their enemies, who raised a shout of 
savage triumph at the fall of Gamut. The fiash of rifies 
was then quick and close between them, but either party 
was too well skilled to leave even a limb exposed to the 
hostile aim. Duncan listened with intense anxiety for the 
strokes of the paddle, believing that flight was now their 
only refuge. The river glanced by with its ordinary 
velocity, but the canoe was nowhere to be seen on its dark 
waters. He had just fancied they were cruelly deserted by 
the scout, as a stream of flame issued from the rock be- 
neath him, and a fierce yell, blended with a shriek of 
agony, announced that the messenger of death, sent from 
the fatal weapon of Hawkeye, had found a victim. At this 
slight repulse the assailants instantly withdrew, and gradu- 
ally the place became as still as before the sudden tumult. 

Duncan seized the favorable moment to spring to the 
body of Gamut, which he bore within the shelter of the 
narrow chasm that protected the sisters. In another min- 
ute the whole party was collected in this spot of compara- 
tive safety. 

“The poor fellow has saved his scalp,” said Hawkeye, 
coolly passing his hand over the head of David; “but he 
is a proof that a man may be born with too long a tongue! 
'Twas downright madness to show six feet of flesh and 


1 And wounded. See p. 111. 


88 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


blood on a naked rock, to the raging savages. I only 
wonder he has escaped with life.” 

“Is he not dead?” demanded Cora, in a voice whose 
husky tones showed how powerfully natural horror strug- 
gled with her assumed firmness. “Can we do aught to 
assist the wretched man?” 

“No, no! the life is in his heart yet, and after he has 
slept awhile he will come to himself, and be a wiser man 
for it, till the hour of his real time shall come,” returned 
Hawkeye, casting another oblique glance at the insensible 
body, while he filled his charger with admirable nicety. 
“Carry him in, Uncas, and lay him on the sassafras. The 
longer his nap lasts the better it will be for him, as I doubt 
whether he can find a proper cover for such a shape on 
these rocks; and singing won’t do any good with the Iro- 
quois.” 

“You believe, then, the attack will be renewed?” asked 
Heyward. 

“Do I expect a hungry wolf will satisfy his craving 
with a mouthful! They have lost a man, and 'tis their 
fashion, when they meet a loss, and fail in the surprise, 
to fall back; but we shall have them on again, with new 
expedients to circumvent us, and master our scalps. Our 
main hope,” he continued, raising his rugged countenance, 
across which a shade of anxiety just then passed like a 
darkening cloud, “will be to keep the rock until Munro 
can send a party to our help! God send it may be soon, 
and under a leader that knows the Indian customs!” 

“You hear our probable fortunes, Cora,” said Duncan, 
“and you know we have everything to hope from the anxi- 
ety and experience of your father. Come, then, with Alice, 
into this cavern, where you, at least, will be safe from the 
murderous rifles of our enemies, and where you may bestow 
a care suited to your gentle natures on our unfortunate 
comrade.” 

The sisters followed him into the outer cave, where David 
was beginning, by his sighs, to give symptoms of returning 
consciousness; and then, commending the wounded man to 
their attention, he immediately prepared to leave them. 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


89 


“Duncan!” said the tremulous voice of Cora, when he 
had reached the mouth of the cavern. He turned, and 
beheld the speaker, whose color had changed to a deadly 
paleness, and whose lip quivered, gazing after him with an 
expression of interest which immediately recalled him to 
her side. “Remember, Duncan, how necessary your safety 
is to our own — how you bear a father’s sacred trust — 
how much depends on your discretion and care — in short,” 
she added, while the tell-tale blood stole over her features, 
crimsoning her very temples, “how very deservedly dear 
you are to all of the name of Munro.” 

“If anything could add to my own base love of life,” 
said Heyward, suffering his unconscious eyes to wander to 
the youthful form of the silent Alice, “it would be so kind 
an assurance. As major of the 60th, our honest host will 
tell you I must take my share of the fray; but our task will 
be easy; it is merely to keep these blood-hounds at bay for 
a few hours.” 

Without waiting for reply, he tore himself from the 
presence of the sisters, and joined the scout and his com- 
panions, who still lay within the protection of the little 
chasm between the two caves. 

“I tell you, Uncas,” said the former, as Heyward joined 
them, “you are wasteful of your powder, and the kick of 
the rifle disconcerts your aim! Little powder, light lead, 
and a long arm, seldom fail of bringing the death screech 
from a Mingo! At least, such has been my experience 
with the creatur’s. Come, friends; let us to our covers, 
for no man can tell when or where a Maqua^ will strike 
his blow.” 

The Indians silently repaired to their appointed stations, 
which were Assures in the rocks, whence they could com- 
mand the approaches to the foot of the falls. In the centre 
of the little island a few short and stunted pines had found 
root, forming a thicket into which Hawkeye darted with 
the swiftness of a deer, followed by the active Duncan. 

1 Mingo was the Delaware term for the Five Nations. Maquas was 
the name given them by the Dutch. The French, from their first Inter- 
course with them, called them Iroquois. [Cooper’s note.] 


90 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


Here they secured themselves, as well as circumstances 
would permit, among the shrubs and fragments of stone 
that were scattered about the place. Above them was a 
bare, rounded rock, on each side of which the water played 
its gambols, and plunged into the abysses beneath in the 
manner already described. As the day had now dawned, 
the opposite shores no longer presented a confused outline, 
but they were able to look into the woods and distinguish 
objects beneath the canopy of gloomy pines. 

A long and anxious watch succeeded, but without any 
further evidences of a renewed attack; and Duncan began 
to hope that their fire, had proved more fatal than was sup- 
posed, and that their enemies had been effectually repulsed. 
When he ventured to utter this impression to his compan- 
ion, it was met by Hawkeye with an incredulous shake of 
the head. 

“You know not the nature of a Maqua, if you think he 
is so easily beaten back without a scalp!” he answered. 
“If there was one of the imps yelling this morning, there 
were forty! and they know our number and quality too 
well to give up the chase so soon. Hist! look into the 
water above, just where it breaks over the rocks. I am no 
mortal, if the risky devils haven’t swam down upon the 
very pitch, and, as bad luck would have it, they have hit 
the head of the island. Hist! man, keep close! or the 
hair will be off your crown in the turning of a knife!” 

Heyward lifted his head from the cover, and beheld what 
he justly considered a prodigy of rashness and skill. The 
river had worn away the edge of the soft rock in such a 
manner as to render its first pitch less abrupt and perpen- 
dicular than is usual at waterfalls. With no other guide 
than the ripple of the stream where it met the head of the 
island, a party of their insatiable foes had ventured into the 
current, and swam down upon this point, knowing the 
ready access it would give, if successful, to their intended 
victims. As Hawkeye ceased speaking, four human heads 
could be seen peering above a few logs of drift-wood that 
had lodged on these naked rocks, and which had probably 
suggested the idea of the practicability of the hazardous 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


91 


undertaking. At the next moment, a fifth form was seen 
floating over the green edge of the fall, a little from the line 
of the island. The savage struggled powerfully to gain 
the point of safety, and, favored by the glancing water, he 
was already stretching forth an arm to meet the grasp of 
his companions, when he shot away again with the whirling 
current, appeared to rise into the air, with uplifted arms 
and starting eyeballs, and fell, with a sullen plunge, into 
that deep and yawning abyss over which he hovered. A 
single, wild, despairing shriek rose from the cavern, and 
all was hushed again as the grave. 

The first generous impulse of Duncan was to rush to thb 
rescue of the hapless wretch, but he felt himself bound to 
the spot by the iron grasp of the immovable scout. 

“Would ye bring certain death upon us, by telling the 
Mingoes where we lie?” demanded Hawkeye, sternly; “ ’tis 
a charge of powder saved, and ammunition is as precious 
now as breath to a worried deer! Freshen the priming of 
your pistols — the mist of the falls is apt to dampen the 
brimstone — and stand firm for a close struggle, while I fire 
on their rush.” 

He placed his finger in his mouth, and drew a long, shrill 
whistle, which was answered from the rocks that were 
guarded by the Mohicans. Duncan caught glimpses of 
heads above the scattered drift-wood, as this signal rose on 
the air, but they disappeared again as suddenly as they had 
glanced upon his sight. A low, rustling sound next drew 
his attention behind him, and, turning his head, he beheld 
Uncas within a few feet, creeping to his side. Hawkeye 
spoke to him in Delaware, when the young chief took his 
position with singular caution and undisturbed coolness. 
To Heyward this was a moment of feverish and impatient 
suspense, though the scout saw fit to select it as a fit occa- 
sion to read a lecture to his more youthful associates on the 
art of using fire-arms with discretion. 

“Of all we’pons,” he commenced, “the long-barrelled, 
true-grooved, soft-metalled rifle is the most dangerous in 
skillful hands, though it wants a strong arm, a quick eye, 
and great judgment in charging, to put forth all its 


92 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


beauties. The gunsmiths can have but little insight into 
their trade when they make their fowling-pieces and short 
horsemen’s—” 

He was interrupted by the low but expressive “Hugh!” 
of Uncas. 

‘T see them, boy, I see them!” continued Hawkeye; 
“they are gathering for the rush, or they would keep their 
dingy backs below the logs. Well, let them,” he added, 
examining his flint; “the leading man certainly comes 
on to his death, though it should be Montcalm himself!” 

At that moment the woods were fllled with another burst 
of cries, and at the signal four savages sprang from the 
cover of the drift-wood. Heyward felt a burning desire to 
rush forward to meet them, so intense was the delirious 
anxiety of the moment; but he was restrained by the delib- 
erate examples of the scout and Uncas. When their foes 
who leaped over the black rock that divided them, with 
long bounds, uttering the wildest yells, were within a few 
rods, the rifle of Hawkeye slowly rose among the shrubs, 
and poured out its fatal contents. The foremost Indian 
bounded like a stricken deer, and fell headlong among the 
clefts of the island. 

“Now, Uncas!” cried the scout, drawing his long knife, 
while his quick eyes began to flash with ardor, “take the 
last of the screeching imps; of the other two we are 
sartain!” 

He w'as obeyed; and but two enemies remained to be 
overcome. Heyward had given one of his pistols to Hawk- 
eye, and together they rushed down a little declivity 
toward their foes; they discharged their weapons at the 
same instant, and equally without success. 

“I know’d it! and I said it!” muttered the scout, whirl- 
ing the despised little implement over the falls with bitter 
disdain. “Come on, ye bloody-minded hellhounds! ye 
meet a man without a cross!” 

The words were barely uttered, when he encountered a 
savage of gigantic stature, and of the flercest mien. At the 
same moment, Duncan found himself engaged with the 
other, in a similar contest of hand to hand. With ready 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


93 


skill, Hawkeye and his antagonist each grasped that up- 
lifted arm of the other which held the dangerous knife. 
For near a minute they stood looking one another in the 
eye, and gradually exerting the power of their muscles for 
the mastery. At length the toughened sinews of the white 
man prevailed over the less practiced limbs of the native. 
The arm of the latter slowly gave way before the increasing 
force of the scout, who, suddenly wresting his armed hand 
from the grasp of the foe, drove the sharp weapon through 
his naked bosom to the heart. In the meantime Heyward 
had been pressed in a more deadly struggle. His slight 
sword was snapped in the first encounter. As he was des- 
titute of any other means of defense, his safety now de- 
pended entirely on bodily strength and resolution. Though 
deficient in neither of these qualities, he had met an enemy 
every way his equal. Happily, he soon succeeded in dis- 
arming his adversary, whose knife fell on the rock at their 
feet; and from this moment it became a fierce struggle 
who should cast the other over the dizzy height into a 
neighboring cavern of the falls. Every successive struggle 
brought them nearer to the verge, where Duncan perceived 
the final and conquering effort must be made. Each of the 
combatants threw all his energies into that effort, and the 
result was that both tottered on the brink of the precipice. 
Heyward felt the grasp of the other at his throat, and saw 
the grim smile the savage gave, under the revengeful hope 
that he hurried his enemy to a fate similar to his own, as he 
felt his body slowly yielding to a resistless power; and the 
young man experienced the passing agony of such a mo- 
ment in all its horrors. At that instant of extreme danger, 
a dark hand and glancing knife appeared before him; the 
Indian released his hold, as the blood flowed freely from 
around the severed tendons of the wrist; and while Duncan 
was drawn backward by the saving arm of Uncas, his 
charmed eyes were still riveted on the fierce and disap- 
pointed countenance of his foe, who fell sullenly and dis- 
appointed down the irrecoverable precipice. 

“To cover! to cover!” cried Hawkeye, wdio just then had 


94 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


despatched the enemy; “to cover, for your lives! the 
work is but half ended!” 

The young Mohican gave a shout of triumph, and, fol- 
lowed by Duncan, he glided up the acclivity they had 
descended to the combat, and sought the friendly shelter 
of the rocks and shrubs. 


CHAPTER VHI 


They linger yet, 
Avengers of their native land. 


—Gray. 


The warning call of the scout was not uttered without 
occasion. During the occurrence of the deadly encounter 
just related, the roar of the falls was unbroken by any 
human sound whatever. It would seem that interest in 
the result had kept the natives on the opposite shores in 
breathless suspense, while the quick evolutions and swift 
changes in the positions of the combatants effectually pre- 
vented a fire that might prove dangerous alike to friend 
and enemy. But the moment the struggle was decided, a 
yell arose as fierce and savage as wild and revengeful 
passions could throw into the air. It was followed by the 
swift fiashes of the rifies, which sent their leaden messen- 
gers across the rock in volleys, as though the assailants 
would pour out their impotent fury on the insensible scene 
of the fatal contest. 

A steady though deliberate return was made from the 
rifie of Chingachgook, who had maintained his post 
throughout the fray with unmoved resolution. When the 
triumphant shout of Uncas was borne to his ears, the grati- 
fied father raised his voice in a single responsive cry, after 
which' his busy piece alone proved that he still guarded his 
pass with unwearied diligence. In this manner many min- 
utes fiew by with the swiftness of thought, the rifies of 
the assailants speaking, at times, in rattling volleys, and at 
others, in occasional, scattering shots. Though the rock, 
the trees, and the shrubs were cut and torn in a hundred 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


95 


places around the besieged, their cover was so close, and so 
rigidly maintained, that, as yet, David had been the only 
sufferer in their little band. 

“Let them burn their powder,” said the deliberate scout, 
while bullet after bullet whizzed by the place where he 
securely lay; “there will be a fine gathering of lead when 
it is over, and I fancy the imps will tire of the sport afore 
these old stones cry out for mercy! Uncas, boy, you waste 
the kernels by overcharging; and a kicking rifle never car- 
ries a true bullet. I told you to take that loping miscreant 
under the line of white paint; now, if your bullet went a 
hair’s breadth, it went two inches above it. The life lies 
low in a Mingo, and humanity teaches us to make a quick 
end of the sarpents.” 

A quiet smile lighted the haughty features of the young 
Mohican, betraying his knowledge of the English lan- 
guage, as well as of the other’s meaning; but he suffered 
it to pass away without vindication or reply. 

“I cannot permit you to accuse Uncas of want of judg- 
ment or of skill,” said Duncan; “he saved my life in the 
coolest and readiest manner, and he has made a friend 
who never will require to be reminded of the debt he 
owes.” 

Uncas partly raised his body, and offered his hand to the 
grasp of Heyward. During this act of friendship, the two 
young men exchanged looks of intelligence which caused 
Duncan to forget the character and condition of his wild 
associate. In the meanwhile, Hawkeye, who looked on this 
burst of youthful feeling with a cool but kind regard, made 
the following reply: — 

“Life is an obligation which friends often owe each other 
in the wilderness. I dare say I may have served Uncas 
some such turn myself before now; and I very well re- 
member that he has stood between me and death five dif- 
ferent times; three times from the Mingoes, once in cross- 
ing Horican, and — ” 

“That bullet w^as better aimed than common!” exclaimed 
Duncan, involuntarily shrinking from a shot which struck 
the rock at his side with a smart rebound. 


96 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


Hawkeye laid his hand on the shapeless metal, and shook 
his head as he examined it, saying, “Falling lead is never 
flattened! had it come from the clouds this might have 
happened!" 

But the rifle of Uncas was deliberately raised toward the 
heavens, directing his companions to a point where the 
mystery was immediately explained. A ragged oak grew 
on the right bank of the river, nearly opposite to their 
position, which, seeking the freedom of the open spacfe, 
had inclined so far forward that its upper branches over- 
hung that arm of the stream which flowed nearest to its 
own shore. Among the topmost leaves, which scantily con- 
cealed the gnarled and stunted limbs, a savage was nestled, 
partly concealed by the trunk of the tree, and partly ex- 
posed, as though looking down upon them to ascertain the 
effect produced by his treacherous aim. 

“These devils will scale heaven to circumvent us to our 
ruin," said Hawkeye; “keep him in play, boy, until I can 
bring ‘Killdeer’ to bear, when we will try his metal on 
each side of the tree at once." 

Uncas delayed his fire until the scout uttered the word. 
The rifles flashed, the leaves and the bark of the oak flew 
into the air and were scattered by the wind, but the In- 
dian answered their assault by a taunting laugh, sending 
down upon them another bullet in return, that struck the 
cap of Hawkeye from his head. Once more the savage 
yells burst out of the woods, and the leaden hail whistled 
above the heads of the besieged, as if to confine them to a 
place where they might become easy victims to the enter- 
prise of the warrior who had mounted the tree. 

“This must be looked to!” said the scout, glancing about 
him with an anxious eye. “Uncas, call up your father; 
we have need of all our we’pons to bring the cunning var- 
mint from his roost." 

The signal was instantly given; and, before Hawkeye 
had reloaded his rifle, they were joined by Chingachgook. 
When his son pointed out to the experienced warrior the 
situation of their dangerous enemy, the usual exclamatory 
“Hugh!" burst from his lips; after which no further ex- 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


97 


pression of surprise or alarm was suffered to escape him. 
Hawkeye and the Mohicans conversed earnestly together in 
Delaware for a few moments, when each quietly took his 
post, in order to execute the plan they had speedily de- 
vised. 

The warrior in the oak had maintained a quick though 
ineffectual fire from the moment of his discovery. But his 
aim was interrupted by the vigilance of his enemies, whose 
rifies instantaneously bore on any part of his person that 
was left exposed. Still his bullets fell in the centre of the 
crouching party. The clothes of Heyward, which rendered 
him peculiarly conspicuous, were repeatedly cut, and once 
blood was drawn from a slight wound in his arm. 

At length, emboldened by the long and patient watch- 
fulness of his enemies, the Huron attempted a better and 
more fatal aim. The quick eyes of the Mohicans caught the 
dark line of his lower limbs incautiously exposed through 
the thin foliage, a few inches from the trunk of the tree. 
Their rifies made a common report, when, sinking on his 
wounded limb, part of the body of the savage came into 
view. Swift as thought, Hawkeye seized the advantage 
and discharged his fatal weapon into the top of the oak. 
The leaves were unusually agitated, the dangerous rifie fell 
from its commanding elevation, and after a few moments 
of vain struggling the form of the savage was seen swing- 
ing in the wind, while he still grasped a ragged and naked 
branch of the tree, with hands clenched in desperation. 

“Give him, in pity give him — the contents of another 
rifle!” cried Duncan, turning away his eyes in horror from 
the spectacle of a fellow-creature in such awful jeopardy. 

“Not a karnel!” exclaimed the obdurate Hawkeye; “his 
death is certain, and we have no powder to spare, for In- 
dian fights sometimes last for days; ’tis their scalps or 
ours! — and God, who made us, has put into our natures 
the craving to keep the skin on the head!” 

Against this stern and unyielding morality, supported as 
it was by such visible policy, there was no appeal. From 
that moment the yells in the forest once more ceased, the 
fire was suffered to decline, and all eyes, those of friends 
7 


98 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


as well as enemies, became fixed on the hopeless condition 
of the wretch who was dangling between heaven and earth. 
The body yielded to the currents of air, and though no 
murmur or groan escaped the victim, there were instants 
when he grimly faced his foes, and the anguish of cold 
despair might be traced, through the intervening distance, 
in possession of his swarthy lineaments. Three several 
times the scout raised his piece in mercy, and as often 
prudence getting the better of his intention, it was again 
silently lowered. At length one hand of the Huron lost 
its hold, and dropped exhausted to his side. A desperhte 
and fruitless struggle to recover the branch succeeded, and 
then the savage was seen for a fieeting instant, grasping 
wildly at the empty air. The lightning is not quicker 
than was the fiame from the rifle of Hawkeye; the limbs of 
the victim trembled and contracted, the head fell to the 
bosom, and the body parted the foaming waters like lead, 
when the element closed above it, in its ceaseless velocity, 
and every vestige of the unhappy Huron was lost forever. 

No shout of triumph succeeded this important advantage, , 
but even the Mohicans gazed at each other in silent horror. 
A single yell burst from the woods, and all was again still. 
Hawkeye, who alone appeared to reason on the occasion, 
shook his head at his own momentary weakness, even 
uttering his self-disapprobation aloud. 

“’Twas the last charge in my horn, and the last bullet 
in my pouch, and ’twas the act of a boy!” he said; “what 
mattered it whether he struck the rock living or dead! feel- 
ing would soon be over. Uncas, lad, go down to the ca- 
noe, and bring up the big horn; it is all the powder we 
have left, and we shall need it to the last grain, or I am 
ignorant of the Mingo nature.” 

The young Mohican complied, leaving the scout turn- 
ing over the useless contents of his pouch, and shaking 
the empty horn with renewed discontent. From this un- 
satisfactory examination, however, he was soon called by 
a loud and piercing exclamation from Uncas, that sounded, 
even to the unpracticed ears of Duncan, as the signal of 
some new and unexpected calamity. Every thought filled 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


99 


with apprehension for the precious treasure he had con- 
cealed in the cavern, the young man started to his feet, 
totally regardless of the hazard he incurred by such an 
exposure. As if actuated by a common impulse, his move- 
ment was imitated by his companions, and together they 
rushed down the pass to the friendly chasm, with a ra- 
pidity that rendered the scattering fire of their enemies 
perfectly harmless. The unwonted cry had brought the 
sisters, together with the wounded David, from their place 
of refuge; and the whole party, at a single glance, was 
made acquainted with the nature of the disaster that had 
disturbed even the practiced stoicism of their youthful 
Indian protector. 

At a short distance from the rock, their little bark was to 
be seen fioating across the eddy, toward the swift cur- 
rent of the river, in a manner which proved that its course 
was directed by some hidden agent. The instant this un- 
welcome sight caught the eye of the scout, his rifle was 
levelled as by instinct, but the barrel gave no answer to 
the bright sparks of the flint. 

“’Tis too late, 'tis too late!” Hawkeye exclaimed, drop- 
ping the useless piece in bitter disappointment; “the mis- 
creant has struck the rapid, and had we powder it could 
hardly send the lead swifter than he now goes!” 

The adventurous Huron raised his head above the shel- 
ter of the canoe, and while it glided swiftly down the 
stream, he waved his hand, and gave forth the shout which 
was the known signal of success. His cry was answered 
by a yell and a laugh from the woods, as tauntingly exult- 
ing as if fifty demons were uttering their blasphemies at 
the fall of some Christian soul. 

“Well may you laugh, ye children of the devil!” said 
the scout, seating himself on a projection of the rock, and 
suffering his gun to fall neglected at his feet, “for the 
three quickest and surest rifles in these woods are no bet- 
ter than so many stalks of mullein, or the last year’s horns 
of a buck!” 

“What is to be done?” demanded Duncan, losing the 


100 THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 

first feeling of disappointment in a more manly desire for 
exertion; “what will become of us?” 

Hawkeye made no other reply than by passing his finger 
around the crown of his head, in a manner so significant 
that none who witnessed the action could mistake its 
meaning. 

“Surely, surely, our case is not so desperate!” exclaimed 
the youth; “the Hurons are not here; we may make good 
the caverns; we may oppose their landing.” 

“With what?” coolly demanded the scout. “The arrows 
of Uncas, or such tears as women shed! No, no; you are 
young, and rich, and have friends, and at such an age 
I know it is hard to die! But,” glancing his eyes at the 
Mohicans, “let us remember we are men without a cross, 
and let us teach these natives of the forest that white 
blood can run as rfreely as red, when the appointed hour 
is come.” 

Duncan turned quickly in the direction indicated by the 
other’s eyes, and read a confirmation of his worst appre- 
hensions in the conduct of the Indians. Chingachgook, 
placing himself in a dignified posture on another fragment 
of the rock, had already laid aside his knife and tomahawk, 
and was in the act of taking the eagle’s plume from his 
head and smoothing the solitary tuft of hair in readiness 
to perform its last and revolting office. His countenance 
was composed, though thoughtful, while his dark gleaming 
eyes were gradually losing the fierceness of the combat 
in an expression better suited to the change he expected 
momentarily to undergo. 

“Our case is not, cannot be so hopeless!” said Duncan; 
“even at this very moment succor may be at hand. I see no 
enemies! they have sickened of a struggle in which they 
risk so much with so little prospect of gain!” 

“It may be a minute, or it may be an hour, afore the 
wily sarpents steal upon us, and it is quite in natur’ for 
them to be lying within hearing at this very moment,” 
said Hawkeye; “but come they will, and in such a fashion 
as will leave us nothing to hope! Chingachgook” — he 
spoke in Delaware — “my brother, we have fought our last 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


101 


battle together, and the Maquas will triumph in the death 
of the sage man of the Mohicans, and of the pale face, 
whose eyes can make night as day, and level the clouds 
to the mists of the springs!” 

“Let the Mingo women go weep over their slain!” re- 
turned the Indian, with characteristic pride and unmoved 
firmness; “the Great Snake of the Mohicans has coiled 
himself in their wigwams, and has poisoned their triumph 
with the wailings of children whose fathers have not re- 
turned! Eleven warriors lie hid from the graves of their 
tribes since the snows have melted, and none will tell 
where to find them when the tongue of Chingachgook shall 
be silent! Let them draw the sharpest knife, and whirl 
the swiftest tomahawk, for their bitterest enemy is in 
their hands. Uncas, topmost branch of a noble trunk, call 
on the cowards to hasten, or their hearts will soften and 
they will change to women!” 

“They look among the fishes for their dead!” returned 
the low, soft voice of the youthful chieftain; “the Hurons 
float with the slimy eels! They drop from the oaks like 
fruit that is ready to be eaten! and the Delawares laugh!” 

“Ay, ay,” muttered the scout, who had listened to this 
peculiar burst of the natives with deep attention; “they 
have warmed their Indian feelings, and they’ll soon pro- 
voke the Maquas to give them a speedy end. As for me, 
who am of the whole blood of the whites, it is befitting 
that I should die as becomes my color, with no words of 
scoffing in my mouth, and without bitterness at the heart!” 

“Why die at all?” said Cora, advancing from the place 
where natural horror had, until this moment, held her riv- 
eted to the rock; “the path is open on every side; fly 
then, to the woods, and call on God for succor. Go, brave 
men, we owe you too much already; let us no longer in- 
volve you in our hapless fortunes!” 

“You but little know the craft of the Iroquois, lady, if 
you judge they have left a path open to the woods!” re- 
turned Hawkeye, who, however, immediately added in his 
simplicity, “the down stream current, it is certain, might 


102 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


soon sweep us beyond the reach of their rifles or the 
sound of their voices.” 

“Then try the river. Why linger to add to the number 
of the victims of our merciless enemies?” 

“Why?” repeated the scout, looking about him proudly, 
“because it is better for a man to die at peace with him- 
self than to live haunted by an evil conscience! What 
ansv/er could v/e give Munro, when he asked us where and 
how we left his children?” 

“Go to him, and say, that you left them with a mes- 
sage to hasten to their aid,” returned Cora, advancing 
nigher to the scout, in her generous ardor; “that the Hu- 
rons bear them into the northern wilds, but that by vigi- 
lance and speed they may yet be rescued; and if, after 
all, it should please heaven that his assistance come too 
late, bear to him,” she continued, her voice gradually low- 
ering, until it seemed nearly choked, “the love, the bless- 
ings, the flnal prayers of his daughters, and bid him not 
mourn their early fate, but to look forward with humble 
confldence, to the Christian’s goal to meet his children.” 

The hard, weather-beaten features of the scout began to 
work, and when she had ended, he dropped his chin to his 
hand, like a man musing profoundly on the nature of the 
proposal. 

“There is reason in her words!” at length broke from 
his compressed and trembling lips; “ay, and they bear the 
spirit of Christianity; what might be right and proper in 
a redskin, may be sinful in a man who has not even a 
cross in blood to plead for his ignorance. Chingachgook! 
Uncas! hear you the talk of the dark-eyed woman?” 

He now spoke in Delaware to his companions, and his 
address, though calm and deliberate, seemed very decided. 
The elder Mohican heard with deep gravity, and ap- 
peared to ponder on his words, as though he felt the im- 
portance of their import. After a moment of hesitation, he 
waved his hand in assent, and uttered the English word 
“Good!” with the peculiar emphasis of his people. Then, 
replacing his knife and tomahawk in his girdle, the warrior 
moved silently to the edge of the rock which was most 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 103 

xjoncealed from the banks of the river. Here he paused a 
moment, pointed significantly to the woods, below, and 
saying a few words in his own language, as if indicating 

his intended route, he dropped into the water, and sank 

from before the eyes of the witnesses of his movements. 

The scout delayed his departure to speak to the gener- 
ous girl, whose breathing became lighter as she saw the 
success of her remonstrance. 

“Wisdom is sometimes given to the young, as well as 
to the old,” he said; “and what you have spoken is wise, 
not to call it by a better word. If you are led into the 
woods, that is, such of you as may be spared for awhile, 
break the twigs on the bushes as you pass, and make the 
marks of your trail as broad as you can, when, if mortal 

eyes can see them, depend on having a friend who will 

follow to the ends of ’arth afore he desarts you.” 

He gave Cora an affectionate shake of the hand, lifted his 
rifle, and after regarding it a moment with melancholy 
solicitude, laid it carefully aside, and descended to the 
place where Chingachgook had just disappeared. For an 
instant he hung suspended by the rock; and looking about 
him with a countenance of peculiar care he added, bitterly, 
“Had the powder held out this disgrace could never have 
befallen!” then, loosening his hold, the water closed above 
his head, and he also became lost to view. 

All eyes were now turned on Uncas, who stood leaning 
against the ragged rock in immovable composure. After 
waiting a short time, Cora pointed down the river, and 
said: — 

“Your friends have not been seen, and are now, most 
probably, in safety; is it not time for you to follow?” 

“Uncas will stay,” the young Mohican calmly answered 
in English. 

“To increase the horror of our capture, and to diminish 
the chances of our release! Go, generous young man,” 
Cora continued, lowering her eyes under the gaze of the 
Mohican, and, perhaps, with an intuitive consciousness of 
her power; “go to my father, as I have said, and be the 
most confidential of my messengers. Tell him to trust 


104 THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 

you with the means to buy the freedom of his daughters. 
Go! ’tis my wish, ’tis my prayer, that you will go!’ 

The settled, calm look of the young chief changed to 
an expression of gloom, but he no longer hesitated. With 
a noiseless step he crossed the rock, and dropped into the 
troubled stream. Hardly a breath was drawn by those 
he left behind, until they caught a glimpse of his head 
emerging for air, far down the current, when he again 
sank, and was seen no more. 

These sudden and apparently successful experiments had 
all taken place in a few minutes of that time which had 
now become so precious. After the last look at Uncas, 
Cora turned, and, with a quivering lip, addressed herself 
to Heyward: — 

“I have heard of your boasted skill in the water, too, 
Duncan,” she said; “follow, then, the wise example set 
you by these simple and faithful beings. 

“Is such the faith that Cora Munro would exact from 
her protector?” said the young man, smiling mournfully, 
but with bitterness. 

“This is not a time for idle subtleties and false opin- 
ions,” she answered; “but a moment when every duty 
should be equally considered. To us you can be of no 
further service here, but your precious life may be saved 
for other and nearer friends.” 

He made no reply, though his eyes fell wistfully on the 
beautiful form of Alice, who was clinging to his arm with 
the dependency of an infant. 

“Consider,” continued Cora, after a pause, during which 
she seemed to struggle with a pang even more acute than 
any that her fears had excited, “that the worst to us can 
be but death, a tribute that all must pay at the good 
time of God’s appointment.” 

“There are evils worse than death,” said Duncan, speak- 
ing hoarsely, and as if fretful at her importunity, “but 
which the presence of one who would die in your behalf 
may avert.” 

Cora ceased her entreaties; and, veiling her face in her 
shawl, drew the nearly insensible Alice after her into the 
deepest recess of the inner cavern. 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


105 


CHAPTER IX 

Be gay securely; 

Dispel, my fair, with smiles, the tim’rous clouds 
That hang on thy clear brow. 

—Death of Agrippina. 

The sudden and almost magical change from the stir- 
ring incidents of the combat to the stillness that now 
reigned around him acted on the heated imagination of 
Heyward like some exciting dream. While all the images 
and events he had witnessed remained deeply impressed 
on his memory, he felt a difficulty in persuading himself 
of their truth. Still ignorant of the fate of those who 
had trusted to the aid of the swift current, he at first lis- 
tened intently to any signal, or sounds of alarm, which 
might announce the good or evil fortune of their hazardous 
undertaking. His intention was, however, bestowed In 
vain; for, with the disappearance of Uncas, every sign of 
the adventurers had been lost, leaving him in total uncer- 
tainty of their fate. 

In a moment of such painful doubt Duncan did not 
hesitate to look about him, without consulting that pro- 
tection from the rocks which just before had been so nec- 
essary to his safety. Every effort, however, to detect the 
least evidence of the approach of their hidden enemies was 
as fruitless as the inquiry after his late companions. The 
wooded banks of the rivers seemed again deserted by 
everything possessing animal life. The uproar which had 
so lately echoed through the vaults of the forest was gone, 
leaving the rush of the waters to swell and sink on the 
currents of the air, in the unmingled sweetness of nature. 
A fish-hawk, which, secure on the topmost branches of a 
dead pine, had been a distant spectator of the fray, now 
stooped from his high and ragged perch, and soared in 
wide sweeps above his prey; while a jay, whose noisy voice 
had been stilled by the hoarser cries of the savages, ven- 
tured again to open his discordant throat, as though once 
more in undisturbed possession of his wild domains. Dun- 


106 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


can caught from these natural accompaniments of the 
solitary scene a glimmering of hope; and he began to rally 
his faculties to renewed exertions, with something like a 
reviving confidence of success. 

“The Hurons are .not to be seen,” he said, addressing 
David, who had by no means recovered from the effects 
of the stunning blow he had received; “let us conceal 
ourselves in the cavern and trust the rest to Providence.” 

“I remember to have united with two comely maidens 
in lifting up our voices in praise and thanksgiving,” re- 
turned the bewildered singing-master, “since which time 
I have been visited by a heavy judgment for my sins. 
I have been mocked with the likeness of sleep, while 
sounds of discord have rent my ears, such as might mani- 
fest the fulness of time, and that nature had forgotten her 
harmony!” 

“Poor fellow! thine own period was, in truth, near its 
accomplishment! But arouse, and come with me; I will 
lead you where all other sounds but those of your own 
psalmody shall be excluded.” 

“There is melody in the fall of the cataract, and the 
rushing of many waters is sweet to the senses!” said David, 
pressing his hand confusedly on his brow. “Is not the 
air yet filled with shrieks and cries, as though the de- 
parted spirits of the damned — ” 

“Not now, not now,” interrupted the impatient Hey- 
ward, “they have ceased, and they who raised them, I 
trust in God, they are gone too! Everything but the water 
is still and at peace; in, then, where you may create those 
sounds you love so well to hear.” 

David smiled sadly, though not without a momentary 
gleam of pleasure, at this allusion to his beloved vocation. 
He no longer hesitated to be led to a spot which promised 
such unalloyed gratification to his wearied senses; and, 
leaning on the arm of his companion, he entered the narrow 
mouth of the cave. Duncan seized a pile of the sassafras, 
which he drew before the passage, studiously concealing 
every appearance of an aperture. Within this fragile bar- 
rier he arranged the blankets abandoned by the foresters. 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


107 


darkening the inner extremity of the cavern, while its 
outer received a chastened light from the narrow ravine, 
through which one arm of the river rushed, to form the 
junction with its sister branch, a few rods below. 

“I like not that principle of the natives, which teaches 
them to submit without a struggle in emergencies that ap- 
pear desperate,” he said, while busied in this employment; 
‘‘our own maxim, which says ‘while life remains there is 
hope,’ is more consoling, and better suited to a soldier’s 
temperament. To you, Cora, I will urge no words of idle 
encouragement; your own fortitude and undisturbed rea- 
son will teach you all that may become your sex; but 
cannot we dry the tears of that trembling weeper on your 
bosom?” 

‘‘I am calmer, Duncan,” said Alice, raising herself from 
the arms of her sister, and forcing an appearance of com- 
posure through her tears, ‘‘much calmer now. Surely, in 
this hidden spot we are safe, we are secret, free from in- 
jury; w’e will hope everything from those generous men 
who have risked so much already in our behalf.” 

‘‘Now does our gentle Alice speak like a daughter of 
Munro!” said Heyward, pausing to press her hand as he 
passed toward the outer entrance of the cavern. ‘‘Vv^ith 
two such examples of courage before him, a man would be 
ashamed to prove other than a hero.” He then seated 
himself in the centre of the cavern, grasping his remain- 
ing pistol with a hand convulsively clenched, while his 
contracted and frowning eye announced the sullen des- 
peration of his purpose. ‘‘The Hurons, if they come, may 
not gain our position so easily as they think,” he slowly 
muttered; and, propping his head back against the rock, 
he seemed to await the result in patience, though his gaze 
was unceasingly bent on the open avenue to their place of 
retreat. 

With the last sound of his voice, a deep, a long, and 
almost breathless silence succeeded. The fresh air of the 
morning had penetrated the recess, and its influence was 
gradually felt on the spirits of its inmates. As minute 
after minute passed by, leaving them in undisturbed se- 


108 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


curity, the insinuating feeling of hope was gradually gain- 
ing possession of every bosom, though each one felt re- 
luctant to give utterance to expectations that the next 
moment might so fearfully destroy. 

David alone formed an exception to these varying emo- 
tions. A gleam of light from the opening crossed his wan 
countenance, and fell upon the pages of the little volume, 
whose leaves he was again occupied in turning, as if search- 
ing for some song more fitted to their condition than any 
that had yet met his eye. He was, most probably, acting 
all this time under a confused recollection of the promised 
consolation of Duncan. At length, it would seem, his pa- 
tient industry found its reward; for, without explanation 
or apology, he pronounced aloud the words “Isle of Wight,” 
drew a long, sweet sound from his pitch-pipe, and then ran 
through the preliminary modulations of the air whose 
name he had just mentioned, with the sweeter tones of 
his own musical voice. 

“May not this prove dangerous?” asked Cora, glancing 
her dark eye at Major Heyward. 

“Poor fellow! his voice is too feeble to be heard above 
the din of the falls,” was the answer; “besides, the cavern 
will prove his friend. Let him indulge his passion, since 
it may be done without hazard.” 

“Isle of Wight!” repeated David, looking about him 
with that dignity with which he had long been wont to 
silence the whispering echoes of his school; “’tis a brave 
tune, and set to solemn words; let it be sung with meet 
respect!” 

After allowing a moment of stillness to enforce his disci- 
pline, the voice of the singer was heard, in low, murmuring 
syllables, gradually stealing on the ear, until it filled the 
narrow vault with sounds rendered trebly thrilling by the 
feeble and tremulous utterance produced by his debility. 
The melody, which no weakness could destroy, gradually 
wrought its sweet influence on the senses of those who 
heard it. It even prevailed over the miserable travesty of 
the song of David which the singer had selected from a 
volume of similar effusions, and caused the sense to be for- 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


109 


gotten in the insinuating harmony of the sounds. Alice 
unconsciously dried her tears, and bent her melting eyes 
on the pallid features of Gamut with an expression of 
chastened delight that she neither affected nor wished to 
conceal. Cora bestowed an approving smile on the pious 
efforts of the namesake of the Jewish prince, and Heyward 
soon turned his steady, stern look from the outlet of the 
cavern, to fasten it, with a milder character, on the face of 
David, or to meet the wandering beams which at moments 
strayed from the humid eyes of Alice. The open sympathy 
of the listeners stirred the spirit of the votary of music, 
whose voice regained its richness and volume, without 
losing that touching softness which proved its secret charm. 
Exerting his renovated powers to the utmost, he was yet 
filling the arches of the cave with long and full tones, when 
a yell burst into the air without that instantly stilled 
his pious strains, choking his voice suddenly, as though 
his heart had literally bounded into the passage of his 
throat. 

“We are lost!” exclaimed Alice, throwing herself into 
the arms of Cora. 

“Not yet, not yet,” returned the agitated but undaunted 
Heyward; “the sound came from the centre of the island, 
and it has been produced by the sight of their dead com- 
panions. We are not yet discovered, and there is still 
hope.” 

Faint and almost despairing as was the prospect of es- 
cape, the words of Duncan were not thrown away, for it 
awakened the powers of the sisters in such a manner that 
they awaited the result in silence. A second yell soon fol- 
lowed the first, when a rush of voices was heard pouring 
down the island, from its upper to its lower extremity, 
until they reached the naked rock above the caverns, where, 
after a shout of savage triumph, the air continued full of 
horrible cries and screams such as man alone can utter, 
and he only when in a state of the fiercest barbarity. 

The sounds quickly spread around them in every direc- 
tion. Some called to their fellows from the water’s edge, 
and were answered from the heights above. Cries were 


110 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


heard in the startling vicinity of the chasm between the 
two caves, which mingled with hoarser yells that arose out 
of the abyss of the deep ravine. In short, so rapidly had 
the savage sounds diffused themselves over the barren 
rock, that it was not difficult for the anxious listeners to 
imagine they could be heard beneath, as in truth they were 
above and on every side of them. 

In the midst of this tumult a triumphant yell was raised 
within a few yards of the hidden entrance to the cave. 
Heyward abandoned every hope, with the belief it was the 
signal that they were discovered. Again the impression 
passed away, as he heard the voices collect near the spot 
where the white man had so reluctantly abandoned his rifle. 
Amid the jargon of the Indian dialects that he now plainly 
heard, it was easy to distinguish not only words, but sen- 
tences, in the patois of the Canadas. A burst of voices had 
shouted simultaneously, “La Longue Carabine!” causing 
the opposite woods to re-echo with a name which, Hey- 
ward well remembered, had been given by his enemies to 
a celebrated hunter and scout of the English camp, and 
who, he now learned for the first time, had been his late 
companion. 

“La Longue Carabine! La Longue Carabine!” passed 
from mouth to mouth, until the whole band appeared to be 
collected around a trophy which would seem to announce 
the death of its formidable owner. After a vociferous con- 
sultation, which was, at times, deafened by bursts of sav- 
age joy, they again separated, filling the air with the 
name of a foe whose body, Heyward could collect from their 
expressions, they hoped to find concealed in some crevice 
of the island. 

“Now,” he whispered to the trembling sisters, “now is 
the moment of uncertainty! if our place of retreat escape 
this scrutiny, we are still safe! In every event, we are 
assured, by what has fallen from our enemies, that our 
friends have escaped, and in two short hours we may look 
for succor from Webb.” 

There were now a few minutes of fearful stillness, dur- 
ing which Heyward well knew that the savages conducted 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


Ill 


their search with greater vigilance and method. More 
than once he could distinguish their footsteps as they 
brushed the sassafras, causing the faded leaves to rustle 
and the branches to snap. At length the pile yielded a 
little, a corner of the blanket fell, and a faint ray of light 
gleamed into the inner part of the cave. Cora folded Alice 
to her bosom in agony, and Duncan sprang to his feet. A 
shout was at that moment heard, as if issuing from the 
centre of the rock, announcing that the neighboring cav- 
ern had at length been entered. In a minute, the num- 
ber and loudness of the voices indicated that the whole 
party was collected in and around that secret place. 

As the inner passages to the two caves were so close to 
each other, Duncan, believing that escape was no lohger 
possible, passed David and the sisters, to place himself 
between the latter and the first onset of the terrible meet- 
ing. Grown desperate by his situation, he drew nigh the 
slight barrier which separated him only by a few feet from 
his relentless pursuers, and placing his face to the casual 
opening, he even looked out, with a sort of desperate in- 
difference, on their movements. 

Within reach of his arm was the brawny shoulder of a 
gigantic Indian, whose deep and authoritative voice ap- 
peared to give directions to the proceedings of his fellows. 
Beyond him again, Duncan could look into the vault op- 
posite, which was filled with savages, upturning and rifling 
the humble furniture of the scout. The wound of David 
had dyed the leaves of the sassafras with a color that the 
natives well knew was anticipating the season. Over this 
sign of their success, they set up a howl, like an opening 
from so many hounds who had recovered a lost trail. Af- 
ter this yell of victory, they tore up the fragrant bed of 
the cavern and bore the branches into the chasm, scat- 
tering the boughs as if they suspected them of concealing 
the person of the man they had so long hated and feared. 
One fierce and wild-looking warrior approached the chief, 
bearing a load of the brush; and pointing, exultingly, to 
the deep red stains with which it was sprinkled, uttered 
his joy in Indian yells, whose meaning Heyward was only 


112 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


enabled to comprehend by the frequent repetition of the 
name of “La Longue Carabine!” When his triumph had 
ceased, he cast the brush on the slight heap Duncan had 
made before the entrance of the second cavern, and 
closed the view. His example was followed by others, 
who, as they drew the branches from the cave of the scout, 
threw them into one pile, adding, unconsciously, to the 
security of those they sought. The very slightness of the 
defense was its chief merit, for no one thought of dis- 
turbing a mass of brush which all of them believed, in 
that moment of hurry and confusion, had been accident- 
ally raised by the hands of their own party. 

As the blankets yielded before the outward pressure, and 
the branches settled in the fissure of the rock by their own 
weight, forming a compact body, Duncan once more 
breathed freely. With a li&ht step, and lighter heart, he 
returned to the centre of the cave, and took the place he 
had left, where he could command a view of the opening 
next the river. While he was in the act of making this 
movement, the Indians, as if changing their purpose by a 
common impulse, broke away from the chasm in a body, 
and were heard rushing up the island again toward the 
point whence they had originally descended. Here another 
wailing cry betrayed that they were again collected around 
the bodies of their dead comrades. 

Duncan now ventured to look at his companions; for, 
during the most critical moments of their danger, he had 
been apprehensive that the anxiety of his countenance 
might communicate some additional alarm to those who 
were so little able to sustain it. 

“They are gone, Cora!” he whispered; “Alice, they are 
returned whence they came, and we are saved! To Heav- 
en, that has alone delivered us from the grasp of so merci- 
less an enemy, be all the praise!” 

“Then to Heaven will I return my thanks!” exclaimed 
the younger sister, rising from the encircling arms of Cora, 
and casting herself with enthusiastic gratitude on the naked 
rock; “to that Heaven who has spared the tears of a gray- 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 113 

headed father; has saved the lives of those I so much 
love — ” 

Both Heyward and the more tempered Cora witnessed 
the act of involuntary emotion with powerful sympathy, 
the former secretly believing that piety had never worn a 
form so lovely as it had now assumed in the youthful per- 
son of Alice. Her eyes were radiant with the glow of 
grateful feelings; the flush of her beauty was again seated 
on her cheeks, and her whole soul seemed ready and anxious 
to pour out its thanksgivings, through the medium of her 
eloquent features. But when her lips moved, the words 
they should have uttered appeared frozen by some new 
and sudden chill. Her bloom gave place to the paleness 
of death; her soft and melting eyes grew hard, and seemed 
contracting with horror; while those hands which she had 
raised, clasped in each other, toward heaven, dropped in 
horizontal lines before her, the Angers pointed forward in 
convulsed motion. Heyward turned, the instant she gave 
a direction to his suspicions, and, peering just above the 
ledge which formed the threshold of the open outlet of the 
cavern, he beheld the malignant, flerce, and savage fea- 
tures of Le Renard Subtil. 

In that moment of surprise the self-possession of Hey- 
ward did not desert him. He observed by the vacant 
expression of the Indian’s countenance, that his eye, accus- 
tomed to the open air, had not yet been able to penetrate 
the dusky light which pervaded the depth of the cavern. 
He had even thought of retreating beyond a curvature in 
the natural wall, which might still conceal him and his 
companions, when, by the sudden gleam of intelligence that 
shot across the features of the savage, he saw it was too 
late, and that they were betrayed. 

The look of exultation and brutal triumph which an- 
nounced this terrible truth was irresistibly irritating. For- 
getful of everything but the impulses of his hot blood, 
Duncan levelled his pistol and fired. The report of the 
weapon made the cavern bellow like an eruption from a 
volcano; and when the smoke it vomited had been driven 
away before the current of air which issued from the ra- 
8 


114 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


vine, the place so lately occupied by the features of his 
treacherous guide was vacant. Rushing to the outlet, Hey- 
ward caught a glimpse of his dark figure, stealing around 
a low and narrow ledge, which soon hid him entirely from 
sight. 

Among the savages, a frightful stillness succeeded the 
explosion, which had just been heard bursting from the 
bowels of the rock. But when Le Renard raised his voice 
in a long and intelligible whoop, it was answered by a 
spontaneous yell from the mouth of every Indian within 
hearing of the sound. The clamorous noises again rushed 
down the island; and before Duncan had time to recovel 
from the shock, his feeble barrier of brush was scattered 
to the winds, the cavern was entered at both its extremi- 
ties, and he and his companions were dragged from their 
shelter and borne into the day, where they stood surrounded 
by the whole band of the triumphant Hurons. 


CHAPTER X 

'I fear we shall outsleep the coming morn 
As much as we this night have overwatched! 

— Midsummer-Night’s Dream. 

The instant the shock of this sudden misfortune had 
abated, Duncan began to make his observations on the 
appearance and proceedings of their captors. Contrary 
to the usages of the natives in the wantonness of their 
success, they had respected, not only the persons of the 
trembling sisters, but his own. The rich ornaments of his 
military attire had indeed been repeatedly handled by 
different individuals of the tribe with eyes expressing a 
savage longing to possess the baubles; but before the 
customary violence could be resorted to, a mandate In 
the authoritative voice of the large warrior already men- 
tioned, stayed the uplifted hand, and convinced Heyward 
that they were to be reserved for some object of particular 
moment. 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


115 


While, however, these manifestations of weakness were 
exhibited by the young and vain of the party, the more 
experienced warriors continued their search throughout 
both caverns, with an activity that denoted they were far 
from being satisfied with those fruits of their conquest 
which had already been brought to light. Unable to dis- 
cover any new victim, these diligent workers of vengeance 
soon approached their male prisoners, pronouncing the 
name of “La Longue Carabine” with a fierceness that 
could not easily be mistaken. Duncan affected not to com- 
prehend the meaning of their repeated and violent inter- 
rogatories, while his companion was spared the effort of a 
similar deception by his ignorance of French. Wearied at 
length by their importunities, and apprehensive of irri- 
tating his captors by too stubborn a silence, the former 
looked about him in quest of Magua, who might interpret 
his answers to questions which were at each moment be- 
coming more earnest and threatening. 

The conduct of this savage had formed a solitary excep- 
tion to that of all his fellows. While the others were busily 
occupied in seeking to gratify their childish passion for 
finery, by plundering even the miserable effects of the 
scout, or had been searching, with such bloodthirsty ven- 
geance in their looks, for their absent owner, Le Renard 
had stood at a little distance from the prisoners, with a 
demeanor so quiet and satisfied as to betray that he had 
already effected the grand purpose of his treachery. When 
the eyes of Heyward first met those of his recent guide, he 
turned them away in horror at the sinister though calm 
look he encountered. Conquering his disgust, however, 
he was able, with an averted face, to address his successful 
enemy. 

“Le Renard Subtil is too much of a warrior,” said the 
reluctant Heyward, “to refuse telling an unarmed man 
what his conquerors say.” 

“They ask for the hunter who knows the paths through 
the woods,” returned Magua, in his broken English, laying 
his hand, at the same time, with a ferocious smile on the 
bundle of leaves with which a wound on his own shoulder 


116 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


was bandaged. “La Longue Carabine! his rifle is good, 
and his eye never shut; but, like the short gun of the 
white chief, it is nothing against the life of Le Subtil!” 

“Le Renard is too brave to remember the hurts received 
in war, or the hands that gave them!” 

“Was it war, when the tired Indian rested at the sugar- 
tree to taste his corn? Who filled the bushes with creep- 
ing enemies? who drew the knife? whose tongue was peace, 
while his heart was covered with blood? Did Magua say 
that the hatchet was out of the ground, and that his hand 
had dug it up?” 

As Duncan dared not retort upon his accuser by remind- 
ing him of his own premeditated treachery, and disdained 
to deprecate his resentment by any words of apology, he 
remained silent. Magua seemed also content to rest the 
controversy as well as all further communication there, 
for he resumed the leaning attitude against the rock, 
from which, in momentary energy, he had risen. But the 
cry of “La Longue Carabine” was renewed the instant 
the impatient savages perceived that the short dialogue 
was ended. 

“You hear,” said Magua, with stubborn indifference; 
“the red Hurons call for the life of ‘The Long Rifle,’ or 
they will have the blood of them that keep him hid!” 

“He is gone-— escaped; he is far beyond their reach.” 

Renard smiled with cold contempt, as he answered, — 

“When the white man dies, he thinks he is at peace; but 
the red men know how to torture even the ghosts of their 
enemies. Where is his body? Let the Hurons see his 
scalp!” 

“He is not dead, but escaped.” 

Magua shook his head incredulously. 

“Is he a bird, to spread his wings; or is he a fish, to 
swim without air? The white chief reads in his books, 
and he believes the Hurons are fools!” 

“Though no fish. The Long Rifle can swim. He floated 
down the stream when the powder was all burned, and 
when the eyes of the Hurons were behind a cloud.” 

“And why did the white chief stay?” demanded the still 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 117 

incredulous Indian. “Is he a stone that goes to the bot- 
tom, or does the scalp burn his head?” 

“That I am not a stone your dead comrade who fell into 
the falls might answer, were the life still in him,” said 
the provoked young man, using, in his anger, that boastful 
language which was most likely to excite the admiration 
of an Indian. “The white man thinks none but cowards 
desert their women.” 

Magua muttered a few words, inaudibly, between his 
teeth, before he continued, aloud: 

“Can the Delawares swim, too, as well as crawl in the 
bushes? Where is Le Gros Serpent?” 

Duncan, who perceived by the use of these Canadian 
appellations that his late companions were much better 
known to his enemies than to himself, answered reluc- 
tantly, “He also is gone down with the water.” 

“Le Cerf Agile is not here?” 

“I know not whom you call ‘The Nimble Deer,’ ” said 
Duncan, gladly profiting by any excuse to create delay. 

“Uncas,” returned Magua, pronouncing the Delaware 
name with even greater difl^culty than he spoke his Eng- 
lish words. “ ‘Bounding Elk’ is what the white man says, 
when he calls to the young Mohican.” 

“Here is some confusion in names between us, Le Re- 
nard,” said Duncan, hoping to provoke a discussion. 
^'Dalm is the French for deer, and cerf for stag; elan is 
the true term, when one would speak of an elk.” 

“Yes,” muttered the Indian, in his native tongue; “the 
pale faces are prattling women! they have two words for 
each thing, while a redskin will make the sound of his voice 
speak for him.” Then, changing his language, he con- 
tinued, adhering to the imperfect nomenclature of his pro- 
vincial instructors: “The deer is swift, but weak; the 
elk is swift, but strong; and the son of Le Serpent is Le 
Cerf Agile. Has he leaped the river to the woods?” 

“If you mean the younger Delaware, he too is gone 
down with the water.” 

As there was nothing improbable to an Indian in the 
manner of the escape, Magua admitted the truth of what 


118 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


he had heard, with a readiness that afforded additional 
evidence how little he would prize such worthless cap- 
tives. With his companions, however, the feeling was man- 
ifestly different. 

The Hurons had awaited the result of this short dialogue 
with characteristic patience, and with a silence that in- 
creased until there was a general stillness in the band. 
When Heyward ceased to speak, they turned their eyes, as 
one man, on Magua, demanding, in this expressive manner, 
an explanation of what had been said. Their interpreter 
pointed to the river, and made them acquainted with the 
result, as much by the action as by the few words he 
uttered. When the fact was generally understood, the sav- 
ages raised a frightful yell, which declared the extent of 
their disappointment. Some ran furiously to the water’s 
edge, beating the air with frantic gestures, while others 
spat upon the element, to resent the supposed treason it 
had committed against their acknowledged rights as con- 
querors. A few, and they not the least powerful and 
terrific of the band, threw lowering looks, in which the 
fiercest passion was only tempered by habitual self-com- 
mand, at those captives who still remained in their power; 
while one or two even gave vent to their malignant feelings 
by the most menacing gestures, against which neither the 
sex nor the beauty of the sisters was any protection. The 
young soldier made a desperate, but fruitless effort, to 
spring to the side of Alice, when he saw the dark hand of 
a savage twisted in the rich tresses which were flowing in 
volumes over her shoulders, while a knife was passed 
around the head from which they fell, as if to denote the 
horrid manner in which it was about to be robbed of its 
beautiful ornament. But his hands were bound; and at the 
first movement he made, he felt the grasp of the powerful 
Indian who directed the band, pressing his shoulder like a 
vise. Immediately conscious how unavailing any struggle 
against such an overwhelming force must prove, he sub- 
mitted to his fate, encouraging his gentle companions by 
a few low and tender assurances, that the natives seldom 
failed to threaten more than they performed. 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


119 


But, while Duncan resorted to these words of consola- 
tion to quiet the apprehensions of the sisters, he was not 
so weak as to deceive himself. He well knew that the au- 
thority of an Indian chief was so little conventional that it 
was oftener maintained by physical superiority than by any 
moral supremacy he might possess. The danger was, 
therefore, magnified exactly in proportion to the number of 
the savage spirits by which they were surrounded. The 
most positive mandate from him who seemed the acknowl- 
edged leader was liable to be violated at each moment by 
any rash hand that might choose to sacrifice a victim to 
the rmnes of some dead friend or relative. While, there- 
fore, he sustained an outward appearance of calmness and 
fortitude, his heart leaped into his throat whenever any 
of their fierce captors drew nearer than common to th'e 
helpless sisters, or fastened one of their sullen wandering 
looks pn those fragile forms which were so little able to 
resist the slightest assault. 

His apprehensions were, however, greatly relieved when 
he saw that the leader had summoned his warriors to him- 
self in council. Their deliberations were short, and it 
would seem, by the silence of most of the party, the deci- 
sion unanimous. By the frequency with which the few 
speakers pointed in the direction of the encampment of 
Webb, it was apparent they dreaded the approach of dan- 
ger from that quarter. This consideration probably has- 
tened their determination, and quickened their subsequent 
movements. 

During this short conference, Heyward, finding a respite 
from his greatest fears, had leisure to admire the cautious 
manner in which the Hurons had made their approaches, 
even after hostilities had ceased. 

It has already been stated that the upper half of the 
island was a naked rock, and destitute of any other de- 
fenses than a few scattered logs of drift-wood. They had 
selected this point to make their descent, having borne 
the canoe through the wood around the cataract for that 
purpose. Placing their arms in the little vessel, a dozen 
men clinging to its sides had trusted themselves to the 


120 THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 

direction of the canoe, which was controlled by two of the 
most skillful warriors, in attitudes that enabled them to 
command a view of the dangerous passage. Favored by this 
arrangement, they touched the head of the island at that 
point which had proved so fatal to their first adventurers, 
but with the advantages of superior numbers, and the pos- 
session of fire-arms. That such had been the manner of 
their descent was rendered quite apparent to Duncan; for 
they now bore the light bark from the upper end of the 
rock, and placed it in the water, near the mouth of the 
outer cavern. As soon as this change was made, the leader 
made signs to the prisoners to descend and enter. 

As resistance was impossible, and remonstrance useless, 
Heyward set the example of submission, by leading the 
way into the canoe, where he was soon seated with the 
sisters, and the still wondering David. Notwithstanding 
the Hurons were necessarily ignorant of the little chan- 
nels among the eddies and rapids of the stream, they 
knew the common signs of such a navigation too well to 
commit any material blunder. When the pilot chosen for 
the task of guiding the canoe had taken his station, the 
whole band plunged again into the river, the vessel glided 
down the current, and in a few moments the captives 
found themselves on the south bank of the stream, nearly 
opposite to the point where they had struck it the pre- 
ceding evening. 

Here was held another short but earnest consultation, 
during which the horses, to whose panic their owners as- 
cribed their heaviest misfortune, were led from the cover 
of the woods, and brought to the sheltered spot. The band 
now divided. The great chief so often mentioned, mount- 
ing the charger of Heyward, led the way directly across 
the river, followed by most of his people, and disappeared 
in the woods, leaving the prisoners in charge of six sav- 
ages, at whose head was Le Renard Subtil. Duncan wit- 
nessed all their movements with renewed uneasiness. 

He had been fond of believing, from the uncommon 
forbearance of the savages, that he was reserved as a pris- 
oner to be delivered to Montcalm. As the thoughts of 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


121 


those who are in misery seldom slumber, and the inven- 
tion is never more lively than when it is stimulated by 
hope, however feeble and remote, he had even imagined 
that the parental feelings of Munro were to be made in- 
strumental in seducing him from his duty to the king. For 
though the French commander bore a high character for 
courage and enterprise, he was also thought to be ex- 
pert in those political practices which do not always re- 
spect the nicer obligations of morality, and which so gen- 
erally disgraced the European diplomacy of that period. 

All those busy and ingenious speculations were now an- 
nihilated by the conduct of his captors. That portion of 
the band who had followed the huge warrior took the 
route toward the foot of the Horican, and no other ex- 
pectation was left for himself and companions than that 
they were to be retained as hopeless captives by their 
savage conquerors. Anxious to know the worst, and will- 
ing, in such an emergency, to try the potency of gold, he 
overcame his reluctance to speak to Magua. Addressing 
himself to his former guide, who had now assumed the 
authority and manner of one who was to direct the fut- 
ure movements of the party, he said, in tones as friendly 
and confiding as he could assume, — 

“I would speak to Magua what is fit only for so great 
a chief to hear.” 

The Indian turned his eyes on the young soldier scorn- 
fully, as he answered, — 

“Speak; trees have no ears!” 

“But the red Hurons are not deaf; and counsel that is 
fit for the great men of a nation would make the young 
warriors drunk. If Magua will not listen, the officer of 
the king knows how to be silent.” 

The savage spoke carelessly to his comrades, who were 
busied, after their awkward manner, in preparing the 
horses for the reception of the sisters, and moved a little 
to one side, whither, by a cautious gesture, he induced Hey- 
ward to follow. 

“Now speak,” he said; “if the words are such as Magua 
should hear.” 


123 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


“Le Renard Subtil has proved himself worthy of the 
honorable name given to him by his Canada fathers,” 
commenced Heyward; ‘T see his wisdom, and all that he 
has done for us, and shall remember it, when the hour to 
reward him arrives. Yes! Renard has proved that he is 
not only a great chief in council, but one who knows how 
to deceive his enemies!” 

“What has Renard done?” coldly demanded the Indian. 

“What! has he not seen that the woods were filled with 
outlying parties of the enemies, and that the serpent could 
not steal through them without being seen? Then, did he 
not lose his path to blind the eyes of the Hurons? Did he 
not pretend to go back to his tribe, who had treated him 
ill, and driven him from their wigwams like a dog? And, 
when we saw what he wished to do, did we not aid him, 
by making a false face, that the Hurons might think the 
white man believed that his friend was his enemy? Is 
not all this true? And when Le Subtil had shut the eyes 
and stopped the ears of his nation by his wisdom, did they 
not forget that they had once done him wrong, and forced 
him to flee to the Mohawks? And did they not leave him 
on the south side of the river, with their prisoners, while 
they have gone foolishly on the north? Does not Renard 
mean to turn like a fox on his footsteps, and to carry to 
the rich and gray-headed Scotchman his daughters? Yes, 
Magua, I see it all, and I have already been thinking how 
so much wisdom and honesty should be repaid. First, 
the chief of William Henry will give as a great chief 
should for such a service. The medaT of Magua will no 
longer be of tin, but of beaten gold; his horn will run 
over with powder; dollars will be as plenty in his pouch 
as pebbles on the shore of Horican; and the deer will lick 
his hand, for they will know it to be vain to fly from 
the rifle he will carry! As for myself, I know not how to 
exceed the gratitude of the Scotchman, but I— yes, I will — ” 

1 It has long been a practice with the whites to conciliate the Im- 
portant men of the Indians, by presenting medals, which are worn in 
the place of their own rude ornaments. Those given by the English 
generally bear the impression of the reigning king, and those given 
by the Americans that of the president. [Cooper’s note.] 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


123 


“What will the young chief who comes from toward the 
sun give?” demanded the Huron, observing that Heyward 
hesitated in his desire to end the enumeration of benefits 
with that which might form the climax of an Indian’s 
wishes. 

“He will make the fire-water from the islands in the 
salt lake fiow before the wigwam of Magua, until the 
heart of the Indian shall be lighter than the feathers of 
the humming bird, and his breath sweeter than the wild 
honeysuckle.” 

Le Renard had listened gravely as Heyward slowly pro- 
ceeded in this subtle speech. When the young man men- 
tioned the artifice he supposed the Indian to have practiced 
on his own nation, the countenance of the listener was 
veiled in an expression of cautious gravits". At the allusion 
to the injury which Duncan affected to believe had driven 
the Huron from his native tribe, a gleam of such ungov- 
ernable ferocity fiashed from the other’s eyes as induced 
the adventurous speaker to believe he had struck the proper 
chord. And by the time he reached the part where he so 
artfully blended the thirst of vengeance with the desire of 
gain, he had, at least, obtained a command of the deepest 
attention of the savage. The question put by Le Renard 
had been calm, and with all the dignity of an Indian; but 
it was quite apparent, by the thoughtful expression of the 
listener’s countenance, that the answer was most cunningly 
devised. The Huron mused a few moments, and then lay- 
ing his hand on the rude bandages of his wounded shoul- 
der, he said, v/ith some energy, — 

“Do friends make such marks?” 

“Would La Longue Carabine cut one so slight on an 
enemy?” 

“Do the Delawares crawl upon those they love, like 
snakes, twisting themselves to strike?” 

“Would Le Gros Serpent have been heard by the ears 
of one he wished to be deaf?” 

“Does the white chief burn his powder in the faces of 
his brothers?” 

“Does he ever miss his aim, when seriously bent to 


124 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


kill?” returned Duncan, smiling with well-acted sincerity. 

Another long and deliberate pause succeeded these sen- 
tentious questions and ready replies. Duncan saw that 
the Indian hesitated. In order to complete his victory, he 
was in the act of recommencing the enumeration of 
the rewards, when Magua made an expressive gesture 
and said — 

“Enough; Le Renard is a wise chief, and what he does 
will be seen. Go, and keep the mouth shut. When Magua 
speaks, it will be the time to answer.” 

Heyward, perceiving that the eyes of his companion 
were warily fastened on the rest of the band, fell back 
immediately, in order to avoid the appearance of any sus- 
picious confederacy with their leader. Magua approached 
the horses, and affected to be well pleased with the dili- 
gence and ingenuity of his comrades. He then signed to 
Heyward to assist the sisters into the saddles, for he sel- 
dom deigned to use the English tongue, unless urged by 
some motive of more than usual moment. 

There was no longer any plausible pretext for delay; 
and Duncan was obliged, however reluctantly, to comply. 
As he performed this office, he whispered his reviving 
hopes in the ears of the trembling females, who, through 
dread of encountering the savage countenances of their 
captors, seldom raised their eyes from the ground. The 
mare of David had been taken with the followers of the 
large chief; in consequence, its owner, as well as Duncan, 
was compelled to journey on foot. The latter did not, how- 
ever, so much regret this circumstance, as it might enable 
him to retard the speed of the party; for he still turned 
his longing looks in the direction of Fort Edward, in the 
vain expectation of catching some sound from that quar- 
ter of the forest, which might denote the approach of 
succor. 

When all were prepared, Magua made the signal to pro- 
ceed, advancing in front to lead the party in person. Next 
followed David, who was gradually coming to a true sense 
of his condition, as the effects of the wound became less 
and less apparent. The sisters rode in his rear, with Hey- 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


125 


ward at their side, while the Indians flanked the party, and 
brought up the close of the march, with a caution that 
seemed never to tire. 

In this manner they proceeded in uninterrupted silence, 
except when Heyward addressed some solitary word of 
comfort to the females, or David gave vent to the moanings 
of his spirit in piteous exclamations, which he intended 
should express the humility of resignation. Their direc- 
tion lay toward the south, and in a course nearly oppo- 
site to the road to William Henry. Notwithstanding this 
apparent adherence in Magua to the original determina- 
tion of his conquerors, Heyward could not believe his 
tempting bait was so soon forgotten; and he knew the 
windings of an Indian’s path too well, to suppose that its 
apparent course led directly to its object, when artifice 
was at all necessary. Mile after mile was, however, passed 
through the boundless woods, in this painful manner, 
without any prospect of a termination to their journey. 
Heyward watched the sun, as he darted his meridian rays 
through the branches of the trees, and pined for the 
moment when the policy of Magua should change their 
route to one more favorable to his hopes. Sometimes he 
fancied the wary savage, despairing of passing the army of 
Montcalm in safety, was holding his way toward a well- 
known border settlement, where a distinguished officer 
of the crown, and a favored friend of the Six Nations, 
held his large possessions, as well as his usual residence. 
To be delivered into the hands of Sir William Johnson was 
far preferable to being led into the wilds of Canada; but 
in order to effect even the former, it would be necessary 
to traverse the forest for many weary leagues, each step 
of which was carrying him further from the scene of the 
war, and, consequently, from the post not only of honor 
but of duty. 

Cora alone remembered the parting injunctions of the 
scout, and whenever an opportunity offered, she stretched 
forth her arm to bend aside the twigs that met her hands. 
But the vigilance of the Indians rendered this act of pre- 
caution both difficult and dangerous. She was often de- 


126 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


feated in her purpose by encountering their watchful eyes, 
when it became necessary to feign an alarm she did not 
feel, and occupy the limb by some gesture of feminine 
apprehension. Once, and once only, was she completely 
successful, when she broke down the bough of a large 
sumach, and, by a sudden thought, let her glove fall at the 
same instant. This sign, intended for those that might 
follow, was observed by one of her conductors, who re- 
stored the glove, broke the remaining branches of the 
bush in such a manner that it appeared to proceed from 
the struggling of some beast in its branches, and then 
laid his hand on his tomahawk, with a look so significant 
that it put an effectual end to these stolen memorials of 
their passage. 

As there were horses, to leave the prints of their foot- 
steps, in both bands of the Indians, this interruption cut 
off any probable hopes of assistance being conveyed through 
the means of their trail. 

Heyward would have ventured a remonstrance had 
there been anything encouraging in the gloomy reserve of 
Magua. But the savage, during all this time, seldom 
turned to look at his followers, and never spoke. With 
the sun for his only guide, or aided by such blind marks 
as are only known to the sagacity of a native, he held his 
way along the barrens of pine, through occasional little 
fertile vales, across brooks and rivulets, and over undu- 
lating hills, with the accuracy of instinct, and nearly with 
the directness of a bird. He never seemed to hesitate. 
Whether the path was hardly distinguishable, whether it 
disappeared, or whether it lay beaten and plain before him, 
made no sensible difference in his speed or certainty. It 
seemed as if fatigue could not affect him. Whenever the 
eyes of the wearied travellers rose from the decayed leaves 
over which they trod, his dark form was to be seen glanc- 
ing among the stems of the trees in front, his head im- 
movably fastened in a forward position, with the light 
plume on his crest fiuttering in a current of air, made 
solely by the swiftness of his own motion. 

But all this diligence and speed were not without an 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


127 


object. After crossing a low vale, through which a gush- 
ing brook meandered, he suddenly ascended a hill, so steep 
and difficult of ascent that the sisters were compelled to 
alight, in order to follow. When the summit was gained, 
they found themselves on a level spot, but thinly covered 
with trees, under one of which Magua had thrown his dark 
form, as if willing and ready to seek that rest which was so 
much needed by the whole party. 


CHAPTER XI 
Cursed be my tribe 

If I forgive him. — Shylock. 

The Indian had selected, for this desirable purpose, one 
of those steep, pyramidal hills which bear a strong resem- 
blance to artificial mounds, and which so frequently occur in 
the valleys of America. The one in question was high and 
precipitous; its top fiattened, as usual; but with one of its 
sides more than ordinarily irregular. It possessed no other 
apparent advantage for a resting-place than in its elevation 
and form, which might render defense easy, and surprise 
nearly impossible. As Heyward, however, no longer ex- 
pected that rescue which time and distance now rendered 
so improbable, he regarded these little peculiarities with 
an eye devoid of interest, devoting himself entirely to the 
comfort and condolence of his feebler companions. The 
Narragansetts were suffered to browse on the branches of 
the trees and shrubs that were thinly scattered over the 
summit of the hill, while the remains of their provisions 
were spread under the shade of a beech, that stretched its 
horizontal limbs like a canopy above them. 

Notwithstanding the swiftness of their fiight, one of the 
Indians had found an opportunity to strike a straggling 
fawn with an arrow, and had borne the more preferable 
fragments of the victim patiently on his shoulders, to the 
stopping-place. Without any aid from the science of 
cookery, he was immediately employed, in common with his 
fellows, in gorging himself with this digestible sustenance. 


128 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


Magua alone sat apart, without participation in the revolt- 
ing meal, and apparently buried in the deepest thought. 

This abstinence, so remarkable in an Indian, when he 
possessed the means of satisfying hunger, at length at- 
tracted the notice of Heyward. The young man willingly 
believed that the Huron deliberated on the most eligible 
manner of eluding the vigilance of his associates. With a 
view to assist his plans by any suggestion of his own, and 
to strengthen the temptation, he left the beech, and strag- 
gled, as if without an object, to the spot where Le Renard 
was seated. 

“Has not Magua kept the sun in his face long enough to 
escape all danger from the Canadians?” he asked, as 
though no longer doubtful of the good intelligence estab- 
lished between them; “and will not the chief of William 
Henry be better pleased to see his daughters before another 
night may have hardened his heart to their loss, to make 
him less liberal in his reward?” 

“Do the pale faces love their children less in the morn- 
ing than at night?” asked the Indian, coldly. 

“By no means,” returned Heyward, anxious to recall his 
error, if he had made one; “the white man may, and does 
often, forget the burial place of his fathers; he some- 
times ceases to remember those he should love, and has 
promised to cherish; but the affection of a parent for his 
child is never permitted to die.” 

“And is the heart of the white-headed chief soft, and 
will he think of the babes that his squaws have given him? 
He is hard to his warriors, and his eyes are made of stone!” 

“He is severe to the idle and wicked, but to the sober 
and deserving he is a leader, but just and humane. I have 
known many fond and tender parents, but never have I 
seen a man whose heart was softer toward his child. You 
have seen the gray-head in front of his warriors, Magua; 
but I have seen his eyes swimming in water, when he spoke 
of those children who are now in your power!” 

Hej^ward paused, for he knew not how to construe the 
remarkable expression that gleamed across the swarthy fea- 
tures of the attentive Indian. At first it seemed as if the 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


129 


remembrance of the promised reward grew vivid in his 
mind, while he listened to the sources of parental feeling 
which were to assure its possession; but as Duncan pro- 
ceeded, the expression of joy became so fiercely malignant 
that it was impossible not to apprehend it proceeded from 
some passion more sinister than avarice. 

“Go,” said the Huron, suppressing the alarming exhibi- 
tion in an instant, in a death-like calmness of countenance; 
“go to the dark-haired daughter, and say, Magua waits to 
speak. The father will remember what the child promises.” 

Duncan, who interpreted this speech to express a wish for 
some additional pledge that the promised gifts should not 
be withheld, slowly and reluctantly repaired to the place 
where the sisters were now resting from their fatigue, to 
communicate its purport to Cora. 

“You understand the nature of an Indian’s wishes,” he 
concluded, as he led her toward the place where she was 
expected, “and must be prodigal of your offers of powder 
and blankets. Ardent spirits are, however, the most prized 
by such as he; nor would it be amiss to add some boon from 
your own hand, with that grace you so well know how to 
practice. Remember, Cora, that on your presence of mind 
and ingenuity even your life, as well as that of Alice, may 
in some measure depend.” 

“Heyward, and yours!” 

“Mine is of little moment; it is already sold to my king, 
and is a prize to be seized by any enemy who may possess 
the power. I have no father to expect me, and but few 
friends to lament a fate which I have courted with the in- 
satiable longings of youth after distinction. But hush! we 
approach the Indian. Magua, the lady with whom you 
wish to speak is here.” 

The Indian rose slowly from his seat, and stood for near 
a minute silent and motionless. He then signed with his 
hand for Heyward to retire, saying coldly,— 

“When the Huron talks to the women, his tribe shut 
their ears.” 

Duncan still lingering, as if refusing to comply, Cora 
said, with a calm smile, — 

9 


130 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


“You hear, Heyward, and delicacy at least should urge 
you to retire. Go to Alice, and comfort her with our reviv- 
ing prospects.” 

She waited until he had departed, and then turning to 
the native, with the dignity of her sex in her voice and 
manner, she added, “What would Le Renard say to the 
daughter of Munro?” 

“Listen,” said the Indian, laying his hand firmly upon 
her arm, as if willing to draw her utmost attention to his 
words; a movement that Cora as firmly but quietly re- 
pulsed, by extricating the limb from his grasp: “Magua 
was born a chief and a warrior among the red Hurons of 
the lakes; he saw the suns of twenty summers make the 
snows of twenty winters run off in the streams, before he 
saw a pale face; and he was happy! Then his Canada 
fathers came into the woods, and taught him to drink the 
fire-water, and he became a rascal. The Hurons drove him 
from the graves of his fathers, as they would chase the 
hunted buffalo. He ran down the shores of the lakes, 
and followed their outlet to the ‘City of Cannon.’^ There 
he hunted and fished, till the people chased him again 
through the woods into the arms of his enemies. The 
chief w'ho was born a Huron was at last a warrior among 
the Mohawks!” 

“Something like this I had heard before,” said Cora, 
observing that he paused to suppress those passions which 
began to burn with too bright a fiame, as he recalled the 
recollection of his supposed injuries. 

“Was it the fault of Le Renard that his head was not 
made of rock? Who gave him the fire-water? who made 
him a villain? ’Twas the pale faces, the people of your 
own color.” 

“And am I answerable that thoughtless and unprincipled 
men exist, whose shades of countenance may resemble 
mine?” Cora calmly demanded of the excited savage. 

“No; Magua is a man, and not a fool; such as you never 
open their lips to the burning stream: the Great Spirit has 
given you wisdom!” 


> (Quebec. 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 131 

“What, then, have I to do, or say, in the matter of your 
misfortunes, not to say of your errors?” 

“Listen,” repeated the Indian, resuming his earnest atti- 
tude; “when his English and French fathers dug up the 
hatchet, Le Renard struck the war-post of the Mohawks, 
and went out against his own nation. The pale faces have 
driven the redskins from their hunting-grounds, and now 
when they fight, a white man leads the way. The old 
chief at Horican, your father, was the great captain of our 
war-party. He said to the Mohawks do this, and do that, 
and he was minded. He made a law that if an Indian 
swallowed the fire-water, and came into the cloth wigwams 
of his warriors, it should not he forgotten. Magua fool- 
ishly opened his mouth, and the hot liquor led him into 
the cabin of Munro. What did the gray-head? let his 
daughter say.” 

“He forgot not his words, and did justice by punishing 
the offender,” said the undaunted daughter. 

“Justice!” repeated the Indian, casting an oblique 
glance of the most ferocious expression at her unyielding 
countenance; “is it justice to make evil, and then punish 
for it? Magua was not himself; it was the fire-water that 
spoke and acted for him! but Munro did not believe it. 
The Huron chief was tied up before all the pale faced war- 
riors, and whipped like a dog.” 

Cora remained silent, for she knew not how to palliate 
this imprudent severity on the part of her father, in a 
manner to suit the comprehension of an Indian. 

“See!” continued Magua, tearing aside the slight calico 
that very imperfectly concealed his painted breast; “here 
are scars given by knives and bullets — of these a warrior 
may boast before his nation; but the gray-head has Teft 
marks on the back of the Huron chief that he must hide, 
like a squaw, under this painted cloth of the whites.” 

“I had thought,” resumed Cora, “that an Indian warrior 
was patient, and that his spirit felt not, and knew not, the 
pain his body suffered.” 

“When the Chippewas tied Magua to the stake, and cut 
this gash,” said the other, laying his finger on a deep scar, 


132 . THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


“the Huron laughed in their faces, and told them. Women 
struck so light! His spirit was then in the clouds! But 
when he felt the blows of Munro, his spirit lay under the 
birch. The spirit of a Huron is never drunk; it remembers 
forever!” 

“But it may be appeased. If my father has done you 
this injustice, show him how an Indian can forgive an 
injury, and take back his daughters. You have heard from 
Major Heyward — ” 

Magua shook his head, forbidding the repetition of offers 
he so much despised. 

“What would you have?” continued Cora, after a most 
painful pause, while the conviction forced itself on her 
mind that the too sanguine and generous Duncan had been 
cruelly deceived by the cunning of the savage. 

“What a Huron loves — good for good; bad for bad!” 

“You would then revenge the injury inflicted by Munro 
on his helpless daughters. Would it not be more like a 
man to go before his face, and take the satisfaction of a 
warrior?” 

“The arms of the pale faces are long, and their knives 
sharp!” returned the savage, with a malignant laugh: 
“why should Le Renard go among the muskets of his war- 
riors, when he holds the spirit of the gray-head in his 
hand?” 

“Name your intention, Magua,” said Cora, struggling 
with .herself to speak with steady calmness. “Is it to lead 
us prisoners to the woods, or do you contemplate even some 
greater evil? Is there no reward, no means of palliating 
the injury, and of softening your heart? At least, release 
my gentle sister, and pour out all your malice on me. Pur- 
chase wealth by her safety, and satisfy your revenge with 
a single victim. The loss of both his daughters might 
bring the aged man to his grave, and where would then 
be the satisfaction of Le Renard?” 

“Listen,” said the Indian again. “The light eyes can 
go back to the Horican, and tell the old chief what has been 
done, if the dark-haired woman will swear by the Great 
Spirit of her fathers to tell no lie.” 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 133 

“What must I promise?” demantied Cora, still main- 
taining a secret ascendency over the fierce native, by the 
collected and feminine dignity of her presence. 

“When Magua left his people, his wife was given to 
another chief; he has now made friends with the Hurons, 
and will go back to the graves of his tribe, on the shores of 
the great lake. Let the daughter of the English chief 
follow, and live in his wigwam forever.” 

However revolting a proposal of such a character might 
prove to Cora, she retained, notwithstanding her powerful 
disgust, sufiicient self-command to reply, without betraying 
the weakness. 

“And what pleasure would Magua find in sharing his 
cabin with a wife he did not love, one who would be of a 
nation and color different from his own? It would be bet- 
ter to take the gold of Munro, and buy the heart of some 
Huron maid with his gifts.” 

The Indian made no reply for near a minute, but bent 
his fierce looks on the countenance of Cora in such waver- 
ing glances that her eyes sank with shame, under an 
impression that, for the first time, they had encountered an 
expression that no chaste female might endure. While 
she was shrinking within herself, in dread of having her 
ears wounded by some proposal still more shocking than 
the last, the voice of Magua answered, in its tones of 
deepest malignancy, — 

“When the blows scorched the back of the Huron, he 
would know where to find a woman to feel the smart. The 
daughter of Munro would draw his water, hoe his corn, and 
cook his venison. The body of the gray-head would sleep 
among his cannon, but his heart would lie within reach of 
the knife of Le Subtil.” 

“Monster! well dost thou deserve thy treacherous 
name!” cried Cora, in an ungovernable burst of filial indig- 
nation. “None but a fiend could meditate such a ven- 
geance! But thou overratest thy power! You shall find 
it is, in truth, the heart of Munro you hold, and that it 
will defy your utmost m'alice!” 

The Indian answered this bold defiance by a ghastly 


134 THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 

smile that showed an unaltered purpose, while he motioned 
her away, as if to close the conference forever. Cora, 
already regretting her precipitation, was obliged to comply, 
for Magua instantly left the spot and approached his glut- 
tonous comrades. Heyward flew to the side of the agitated 
female, and demanded the result of a dialogue that he had 
watched at a distance with so much interest. But unwill- 
ing to alarm the fears of Alice, she evaded a direct reply, 
betraying only by her countenance her utter want of success, 
and keeping her anxious looks fastened on the slightest 
movements of their captors. To the reiterated and earnest 
questions of her sister concerning their probable destina- 
tion, she made no other answer than by pointing toward 
the dark group, with an agitation she could not control, and 
murmuring, as she folded Alice to her bosom, — 

“There, there; read our fortunes in their faces; we shall 
see; we shall see!” 

The action, and the choked utterance of Cora, spoke 
more impressively than any words, and quickly drew the 
attention of her companions on that spot where her own 
was riveted with an intenseness that nothing but the im- 
portance of the stake could create. 

When Magua reached the cluster of lolling savages, who, 
gorged with their disgusting meal, lay stretched on the 
earth in brutal indulgence, he commenced speaking with 
the dignity of an Indian chief. The first syllables he 
uttered had the effect to cause his listeners to raise them- 
selves in attitudes of respectful attention. As the Huron 
used his native language, the prisoners, notwithstanding 
the caution of the natives had kept them within the swing 
of their tomahawks, could only conjecture the substance 
of his harangue, from the nature of those significant ges- 
tures with which an Indian always illustrates his elo- 
quence. 

At first, the language, as well as the action of Magua, 
appeared calm and deliberative. When he had succeeded 
in sufficiently awakening the attention of his comrades, 
Heyward fancied, by his pointing so frequently toward the 
direction of the great lakes, that he spoke of the land of 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


135 


their fathers, and of their distant tribe. Frequent indica- 
tions of applause escaped the listeners, who, as they uttered 
the expressive “Hugh!” looked at each other in com- 
mendation of the speaker. Le Renard was too skillful to 
neglect his advantage. He now spoke of the long and 
painful route by which they had left those spacious grounds 
and happy villages, to come and battle against the enemies 
of their Canadian fathers. He enumerated the warriors of 
the party; their several merits; their frequent services to 
the nation; their wounds, and the number of the scalps they 
had taken. Whenever he alluded to any present (and the 
subtle Indian neglected none), the dark countenance of 
the flattered individual gleamed with exultation, nor did 
he even hesitate to assert the truth of the words, by ges- 
tures of applause and confirmation. Then the voice of the 
speaker fell, and lost the loud, animated tones of triumph 
with which he had enumerated their deeds of success and 
victory. He described the cataract of Glenn’s; the impreg- 
nable position of its rocky island, with its caverns and its 
numerous rapids and whirlpools; he named the name of 
La Longue Carabine, and paused until the forest beneath 
them had sent up the last echo of a loud and long yell, with 
which the hated appellation was received. He pointed 
toward the youthful military captive, and described the 
death of a favorite warrior, who had been precipitated into 
the deep ravine by his hand. He not only mentioned the 
fate of him who, hanging between heaven and earth, had 
presented such a spectacle of horror to the whole band, but 
he acted anew the terrors of his situation, his resolution and 
his death, on the branches of a sapling; and. Anally, he 
rapidly recounted the manner in which each of their friends 
had fallen, never failing to touch upon their courage, and 
their most acknowledged virtues. When this recital of 
events was ended, his voice once more changed, and became 
plaintive, and even musical, in its low guttural sounds. He 
now spoke of the wives and children of the slain; their 
destitution; their misery, both physical and moral; their 
distance; and, at last, of their unavenged wrongs. Then 


136 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


suddenly lifting his voice to a pitch of terrific energy, he 
concluded, hy demanding, — 

“Are the Hurons dogs to bear this? Who shall say to 
the wife of Menowgua that the fishes have his scalp, and 
that his nation have not taken revenge? Who will dare 
meet the mother of Wassawattimie, that scornful woman, 
with his hands clean? What shall be said to the old men 
when they ask us for scalps, and we have not a hair from 
a white head to give them? The women will point their 
fingers at us. There is a dark spot on the names of the 
Hurons, and it must be hid in blood!” 

His voice was no longer audible in the burst of rage 
which now broke into the air, as if the wood, instead of 
containing so small a band, was filled with the nation. 
During the foregoing address the progress of the speaker 
was too plainly read by those most interested in his success, 
through the medium of the countenances of the men he ad- 
dressed. They had answered his melancholy and mourning 
by sympathy and sorrow; his assertions, by gestures of 
confirmation, and his boastings, with the exultation of 
savages. When he spoke of courage, their looks were firm 
and responsive; when he alluded to their injuries, their eyes 
kindled with fury; when he mentioned the taunts of the 
women, they dropped their heads in shame; but when he 
pointed out their means of vengeance, he struck a chord 
which never failed to thrill in the breast of an Indian. 
With the first intimation that it was within their reach, the 
whole band sprang upon their feet as one man; giving 
utterance to their rage in the most frantic cries, they rushed 
upon their prisoners in a body with drawn knives and up- 
lifted tomahawks. Heyward threw himself between the 
sisters and the foremost, whom he grappled with a desperate 
strength that for a moment checked his violence. This un- 
expected resistance gave Magua time to interpose, and with 
rapid enunciation and animated gesture, he drew the atten- 
tion of the band again to himself. In that language he 
knew so well how to assume, he diverted his comrades 
from their instant purpose, and invited them to prolong 
the misery of their victims. His proposal was received 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. . 137 

with acclamations, and executed with the swiftness of 
thought. 

Two powerful warriors cast themselves on Heyward, 
while another was occupied in securing the less active 
singing-master. Neither of the captives, however, sub- 
mitted without a desperate though fruitless struggle. Even 
David hurled his assailant to the earth; nor was Heyward 
secured until the victory over his companion enabled the 
Indians to direct their united force to that object. He was 
then bound and fastened to the body of the sapling on 
whose branches Magua had acted the pantomime of the fall- 
ing Huron. When the young soldier regained his recol- 
lection, he had the painful certainty before his eyes that a 
common fate was intended for the whole party. On his 
right was Cora, in a durance similar to his own, pale and 
agitated, but with an eye whose steady look still read the 
proceedings of their enemies. On his left, the withes which 
bound her to a pine performed that office for Alice which 
her trembling limbs refused, and alone kept her fragile 
form from sinking. Her hands were clasped before her in 
prayer, but instead of looking upward toward that power 
which alone could rescue them, her unconscious looks 
wandered to the countenance of Duncan with infantile 
dependency. David had contended, and the novelty of the 
circumstance held him silent, in deliberation on the pro- 
priety of the unusual occurrence. 

The vengeance of the Hurons had now taken a new 
direction, and they prepared to execute it with that bar- 
barous ingenuity with which they were familiarized by the 
practice of centuries. Some sought knots, to raise the 
blazing pile; one was riving the splinters of pine, in order 
to pierce the flesh of their captives with the burning frag- 
ments; and others bent the tops of two saplings to the 
earth, in order to suspend Heyward by the arms between 
the recoiling branches. But the vengeance of Magua 
sought a deeper and a more malignant enjoyment. 

While the less reflned monsters of the band prepared, 
before the eyes of those who were to suffer, these well- 
known and vulgar means of torture, he approached Cora, 


3 

138^ THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 

and pointed out, with the most malign expression of coun- 
tenance, the speedy fate that awaited her, — 

“Ha!” he added, “what says the daughter of Munro? 
Her head is too good to find a pillow in the wigwam of 
Le Renard; will she like it better when it rolls about this 
hill a plaything for the wolves? Her bosom cannot nurse 
the children of a Huron; she will see it spit upon by 
Indians!” 

“What means the monster!” demanded the astonished 
Heyward. 

“Nothing!” was the firm reply. “He is a savage, a 
barbarous and ignorant savage, and knows not what he 
does. Let us find leisure, with our dying breath, to ask for 
him penitence and pardon.” 

“Pardon!” echoed the fierce Huron, mistaking, in his 
anger, the meaning of her words; “the memory of an In- 
dian is longer than the arm of the pale faces; his mercy 
shorter than their justice! Say; shall I send the yellow 
hair to her father, and will you follow Magua to the great 
lakes, to carry his water, and feed him with corn?” 

Cora beckoned him away, with an emotion of disgust she 
could not control. 

“Leave me,” she said, with a solemnity that for a mo- 
ment checked the barbarity of the Indian; “you mingle 
bitterness in my prayers; you stand between me and my 
God!” 

The slight impression produced on the savage was, how- 
ever, soon forgotten, and he continued pointing, with 
taunting irony, toward Alice. 

“Look! the child weeps! She is young to die! Send 
her to Munro, to comb his gray hairs, and keep life in the 
heart of the old man.” 

Cora could not resist the desire to look upon her youthful 
sister, in whose eyes she met an imploring glance, that 
betrayed the longings of nature. 

“What says he, dearest Cora?” asked the trembling 
voice of Alice. “Did he speak of sending me to our 
father?” 

For many moments the elder sister looked upon the 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


139 


younger, with a countenance that wavered with powerful 
and contending emotions. At length she spoke, though her 
tones had lost their rich and calm fullness, in an expression 
of tenderness that seemed maternal. 

“Alice,” she said, “the Huron offers us both life, nay, 
more than both; he offers to restore Duncan, our invaluable 
Duncan, as well as you, to our friends — to our father — to 
our heart-stricken, childless father, if I will bow down this 
rebellious, stubborn pride of mine, and consent — ” 

Her voice became choked, and clasping her hands, she 
looked upward, as if seeking, in her agony, intelligence 
from a wisdom that was infinite. 

“Say on,” cried Alice; “to what, dearest Cora? Oh 
that the proffer were made to me! to save you, to cheer our 
aged father, to restore Duncan, how cheerfully could I 
die!” 

“Die!” repeated Cora, with a calmer and a firmer voice, 
“that were easy! Perhaps the alternative may not be less 
so. He would have me,” she continued, her accents sink- 
ing under a deep consciousness of the degradation of the 
proposal, “follow him to the wilderness; go to the habita- 
tions of the Hurons; to remain there: in short, to become 
his wife! Speak, then, Alice; child of my affections! sis- 
ter of my love! And you, too, Major Heyward, aid my 
weak reason with your counsel. Is life to be purchased by 
such a sacrifice? Will you, Alice, receive it at my hands 
at such a price? And you, Duncan, guide me; control me 
between you; for I am wholly yours,” 

“Would I?” echoed the indignant and astonished 
youth. “Cora! Cora! you jest with our misery! Name 
not the horrid alternative again; the thought itself is worse 
than a thousand deaths.” 

“That such would be your answer, I well knew!” ex- 
claimed Cora, her cheeks flushing, and her dark eyes once 
more sparkling with the lingering emotions of a woman. 
“What says my Alice? for her will I submit without an- 
other murmur.” 

Although both Heyward and Cora listened with painful 
suspense and the deepest attention, no sounds were heard 


140 THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 

in reply. It appeared as if the delicate and sensitive form 
of Alice would shrink into itself, as she listened to this 
proposal. Her arms had fallen lengthwise before her, the 
fingers moving in slight convulsions; her head dropped 
upon her bosom, and her whole person seemed suspended 
against the tree, looking like some beautiful emblem of the 
wounded delicacy of her sex, devoid of animation, and yet 
keenly conscious. In a few moments, however, her head 
began to move slowly, in a sign of deep, unconquerable dis- 
approbation. 

“No, no, no; better that we die as we have lived, to- 
gether!” 

“Then die!” shouted Magua, hurling his tomahawk 
with violence at the unresisting speaker, and gnashing his 
teeth with a rage that could no longer be bridled, at this 
sudden exhibition of firmness in the one he believed the 
weakest of the party. The axe cleaved the air in front of 
Heyward, and cutting some of the fiowing ringlets of Alice, 
quivered in the tree above her head. The sight maddened 
Duncan to desperation. Collecting all his energies in one 
effort, he snapped the twigs which bound him and rushed 
upon another savage, who was preparing with loud yells, 
and a more deliberate aim, to repeat the blow. They en- 
countered, grappled, and fell to the earth together. The 
naked body of his antagonist afforded Heyward no means 
of holding his adversary, who glided from his grasp, and 
rose again with one knee on his chest, pressing him down 
with the weight of a giant. Duncan already saw the knife 
gleaming in the air, when a whistling sound swept past 
him, and was rather accompanied, than followed, by the 
sharp crack of a rifle. He felt his breast relieved from the 
load it had endured; he saw the savage expression of his 
adversary’s countenance change to a look of vacant wild- 
ness, when the Indian fell dead on the faded leaves by 
his side. 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


141 




CHAPTER XII 

Clo. I am Kone, sir. 

And anon, sir, ' 

I’ll be with you again. 

—Twelfth Night. 

The Hurons stood aghast at this sudden visitation of 
death on one of their band. But, as they regarded the 
fatal accuracy of an aim which had dared to immolate an 
enemy at so much hazard to a friend, the name of “La 
Longue Carabine” burst simultaneously from every lip, 
and was succeeded by a wild and a sort of plaintive howl. 
The cry was answered by a loud shout from a little thicket, 
where the incautious party had piled their arms; and at the 
next moment, Hawkeye, too eager to load the rifle he had 
regained, was seen advancing upon them, brandishing the 
clubbed weapon, and cutting the air with wide and power- 
ful sweeps. Bold and rapid as was the progress of the 
scout, it was exceeded by that of a light and vigorous form 
which, bounding past him, leaped, with incredible activity 
and daring, into the very centre of the Hurons, where it 
stood, whirling a tomahawk, and flourishing a glittering 
knife, with fearful menaces, in front of Cora. Quicker 
than the thoughts could follow these unexpected and auda- 
cious movements, an image, armed in the emblematic pan- 
oply of death,^ glided before their eyes, and assumed a 
threatening attitude at the other’s side. The savage tor- 
mentors recoiled before these warlike intruders, and ut- 
tered, as they appeared in such quick succession, the often 
repeated and peculiar exclamation of surprise, followed by 
the well-known and dreaded appellations of — 

“Le Cerf Agile! Le Gros Serpent!” 

But the wary and vigilant leader of the Hurons was not 
so easily disconcerted. Casting his keen eyes around the 
little plain, he comprehended the nature of the assault at a 
glance, and encouraging his followers by his voice as well 
as by his example, he unsheathed his long and dangerous 


» Cf. p. 41. 


142 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


knife, and rushed with a loud whoop upon the expecting 
Chingachgook. It was the signal for a general combat. 
Neither party had fire-arms, and the contest was to be de- 
cided in the deadliest manner; hand to hand, with weapons 
of offense, and none of defense. 

Uncas answered the whoop, and leaping on an enemy, 
with a single, well-directed blow of his tomahawk cleft him 
to the brain. Heyward tore the weapon of Magua from the 
sapling, and rushed eagerly towards the fray. As the com- 
batants were now equal in number, each singled an oppo- 
nent from the adverse band. The rush and blows passed 
with the fury of a whirlwind, and the swiftness of light- 
ning. Hawkeye soon got another enemy within reach of his 
arm, and with one sweep of his formidable weapon he beat 
down the slight and inartificial defenses of his antagonist, 
crushing him to the earth with the blow. Heyward ven- 
tured to hurl the tomahawk he had seized, too ardent to 
await the moment of closing. It struck the Indian he had 
selected on the forehead, and checked for an instant his 
onward rush. Encouraged by this slight advantage, the 
impetuous young man continued his onset, and sprang 
upon his enemy with naked hands. A single instant was 
enough to assure him of the rashness of the measure, for he 
immediately found himself fully engaged, with all his activ- 
ity and courage, in endeavoring to ward the desperate 
thrusts made with the knife of the Huron. Unable longer 
to foil an enemy so alert and vigilant, he threw his arms 
about him, and succeeded in pinning the limbs of the other 
to his side, with an iron grasp, but one that was far too 
exhausting to himself to continue long. In this extremity 
he heard a voice near him, shouting — 

“Extarminate the varlets! no quarter to an accursed 
Mingo!” 

At the next moment, the breech of Hawkeye’s rifie fell 
on the naked head of his adversary, whose muscles ap- 
peared to wither under the shock, as he sank from the arms 
of Duncan, fiexible and motionless. 

When Uncas had brained his first antagonist, he turned, 
like a hungry lion, to seek another. The fifth and only 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


143 


Huron disengaged at the first onset had paused a moment, 
and then seeing that all around him were employed in the 
deadly strife, he had sought, with hellish vengeance, to 
complete the baffled work of revenge. Raising a shout of 
triumph, he sprang toward the defenseless Cora, sending 
his keen axe as the dreadful precursor of his approach. 
The tomahawk grazed her shoulder, and cutting the withes 
which bound her to the tree, left the maiden at liberty to 
fly. She eluded the grasp of the savage, and reckless of 
her own safety, threw herself on the bosom of Alice, striv- 
ing, with convulsed and ill-directed fingers, to tear asunder 
the twigs which confined the person of her sister. Any 
other than a monster would have relented at such an act of 
generous devotion to the best and purest affection; but the 
breast of the Huron was a stranger to sympathy. Seizing 
Cora by the rich tresses which fell in confusion about her 
form, he tore her from her frantic hold, and bowed her 
down with brutal violence to her knees. The savage drew 
the flowing curls through his hand, and raising them on 
high with an outstretched arm, he passed the knife around 
the exquisitely moulded head of his victim, with a taunting 
and exulting laugh. But he purchased this moment of 
fierce gratification with the loss of the fatal opportunity. 
It was just then the sight caught the eye of Uncas. Bound- 
ing from his footsteps he appeared for an instant darting 
through the air, and descending in a ball he fell on the 
chest of his enemy, driving him many yards from the spot, 
headlong and prostrate. The violence of the exertion 
cast the young Mohican at his side. They arose together, 
fought, and bled, each in his turn. But the conflict was 
soon decided; the tomahawk of Heyward and the rifle of 
Hawkeye descended on the skull of the Huron, at the same 
moment that the knife of Uncas reached his heart. 

The battle was now entirely terminated, with the ex- 
ception of the protracted struggle between Le Renard Subtil 
and Le Gros Serpent. Well did these barbarous warriors 
prove that they deserved those significant names which had 
been bestowed for deeds in former wars. When they en- 
gaged, some little time was lost in eluding the quick and 


144 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


vigorous thrusts which had been aimed at their lives. Sud- 
denly darting on each other, they closed, and came to the 
earth, twisted together like twining serpents, in pliant and 
subtle folds. At the moment when the victors found them- 
selves unoccupied, the spot where these experienced and 
desperate combatants lay could only be distinguished by a 
cloud of dust and leaves which moved from the centre of the 
little plain toward its boundary, as if raised by the passage 
of a whirlwind. Urged by the different motives of filial af- 
fection, friendship, and gratitude, Heyward and his compan- 
ions rushed with one accord to the place, encircling the 
little canopy of dust which hung above the warriors. In 
vain did Uncas dart around the cloud, with a wish to strike 
his knife into the heart of his father’s foe; the threatening 
rifie of Hawkeye was raised and suspended in vain, while 
Duncan endeavored to seize the limbs of the Huron with 
hands that appeared to have lost their power. Covered, 
as they were, with dust and blood, the swift evolutions of 
the combatants seemed to incorporate their bodies into one. 
The death-like looking figure of the Mohican, and the dark 
form of the Huron, gleamed before their eyes in such quick 
and confused succession, that the friends of the former 
knew not where nor when to plant the succoring blow. It 
is true there were short and fieeting moments when the 
fiery eyes of Magua were seen glittering, like the fabled 
organs of the basilisk, through the dusty wreath by which 
he was enveloped, and he read by those short and deadly 
glances the fate of the combat in the presence of his ene- 
mies; ere, however, any hostile hand could descend on his 
devoted head, its place was filled by the scowling visage of 
Chingachgook. In this manner the scene of the combat 
was removed from the centre of the little plain to its verge. 
The Mohican now found an opportunity to make a power- 
ful thrust with his knife; Magua suddenly relinquished his 
grasp, and fell backward without motion, and seemingly 
without life. His adversary leaped on his feet, making the 
arches of the forest ring with the sounds of triumph. 

“Well done for the Delawares! victory to the Mohican!” 
cried Hawkeye, once more elevating the butt of the long 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


145 


and fatal rifle; “a flnishing blow from a man without a 
cross will never tell against his honor, nor rob him of his 
right to the scalp.” 

But, at the very moment when the dangerous weapon was 
in the act of descending, the subtle Huron rolled swiftly 
from beneath the danger, over the edge of the precipice, 
and falling on his feet, was seen leaping, with a single 
bound, into the centre of a thicket of low bushes, which 
clung along its sides. The Delawares, who had believed 
their enemy dead, uttered their exclamation of surprise, 
and were following with speed and clamor, like hounds in 
open view of the deer, when a shrill and peculiar cry from 
the scout instantly changed their purpose, and recalled 
them to the summit of the hill. 

“ ’Twas like himself,” cried the inveterate forester, whose 
prejudices contributed so largely to veil his natural sense of 
justice in all matters which concerned the Mingoes; “a lying 
and deceitful varlet as he is. An honest Delaware now, 
being fairly vanquished, would have lain still, and been 
knocked on the head, but these knavish Maquas cling to life 
like so many cats-o’-the-mountain. Let him go — let him 
go; ’tis but one man, and he without rifle or bow, many a 
long mile from his French commerades; and, like a rattler 
that has lost his fangs, he can do no further mischief until 
such time as he, and we too, may leave the prints of our 
moccasins over a long reach of sandy plain. See, Uncas,” 
he added, in Delaware, “your father is flaying the scalps 
already. It may be well to go round and feel the vagabonds 
that are left, or we may have another of them loping 
through the woods, and screeching like a jay that has been: 
winged.” 

So saying, the honest but implacable scout made the cir- 
cuit of the dead, into whose senseless bosoms he thrust his 
long knife with as much coolness as though they had been 
so many brute carcasses. He had, however, been anticipated 
by the elder Mohican, who had already torn the emblems of 
victory from the unresisting heads of the slain. 

But Uncas, denying his habits, we had almost said his 
nature, flew with instinctive delicacy, accompanied by Hey- 
10 


146 THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 

ward, to the assistance of the females, and quickly releasing 
Alice, placed her in the arms of Cora. We shall not at- 
tempt to describe the gratitude to the Almighty Disposer of 
events which glowed in the bosoms of the sisters, who were 
thus unexpectedly restored to life and to each other. Their 
thanksgivings were deep and silent; the offerings of their 
gentle spirits burning brightest and purest on the secret 
altars of their hearts, and their renovated and more earthly 
feelings exhibiting themselves in long and fervent, though 
speechless caresses. As Alice rose from her knees, where 
she had sunk by the side of Cora, she threw herself on the 
bosom of the latter, and sobbed aloud the name of their 
aged father, while her soft, dove-like eyes sparkled with the 
rays of hope. 

“We are saved! we are saved!” she murmured; “to 
return to the arms of our dear, dear father, and his heart 
will not be broken with grief. And you too, Cora, my 
sister; my more than sister, my mother; you too are 
spared. And Duncan,” she added, looking round upon the 
youth with a smile of ineffable innocence, “even our own 
brave and noble Duncan has escaped without a hurt.” 

To these ardent and nearly incoherent words Cora made 
no other answer than by straining the youthful speaker to 
her heart, as she bent over her, in melting tenderness. The 
manhood of Heyward felt no shame in dropping tears over 
this spectacle of affectionate rapture; and Uncas stood, 
fresh and blood-stained from the combat, a calm, and, 
apparently, an unmoved looker-on, it is true, but with eyes 
that had already lost their fierceness, and were beaming 
with a sympathy that elevated him far above the intelli- 
gence, and advanced him probably centuries before the 
practices, of his nation. 

During this display of emotions so natural in their situa- 
tion, Hawkeye, whose vigilant distrust had satisfied itself 
that the Hurons, who disfigured the heavenly scene, no 
longer possessed the power to interrupt its harmony, ap- 
proached David, and liberated him from the bonds he 
had, until that moment, endured with the most exemplary 
patience, 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


147 


“There,” exclaimed the scout, casting the last withe 
behind him, “you are once more master of your own limbs, 
though you seem not to use them with greater judgment 
than that in which they were first fashioned. If advice 
from one who is not older than yourself, but who, having 
lived most of his time in the wilderness, may be said to 
have experience beyond his years, will give no offense, you 
are welcome to my thoughts; and these are, to part with 
the little tooting instrument in your jacket to the first fool 
you meet with, and buy some useful we’pon with the 
money, if it be only the barrel of a horseman’s pistol. 'By 
industry and care, you might thus come to some prefar- 
ment; for by this time, I should think, your eyes would 
plainly tell you that a carrion crow is a better bird than a 
mocking thresher. The one will, at least, remove foul 
sights from before the face of man, while the other is only 
good to brew disturbances in the woods, by cheating the 
ears of all that hear them.” 

“Arms and the clarion for the battle, but the song of 
thanksgiving to the victory!” answered the liberated 
David. “Friend,” he added, thrusting forth his lean, deli- 
cate hand toward Hawkeye, in kindness, while his eyes 
twinkled and grew moist, “I thank thee that the hairs of 
my head still grow where they were first rooted by Provi- 
dence; for though those of other men may be more glossy 
and curling, I have ever found mine own well suited to the 
brain they shelter. That I did not join myself to the 
battle was less owing to disinclination than to the bonds of 
the heathen. Valiant and skillful hast thou proved thyself 
in the conflict, and I hereby thank thee, before proceeding 
to discharge other and more important duties, because thou 
hast proved thyself well worthy of a Christian’s praise.” 

“The thing is but a trifle, and what you may often see, 
if you tarry long among us,” returned the scout, a good deal 
softened toward the man of song by this unequivocal ex- 
pression of gratitude. “I have got back my old companion, 
‘Killdeer,’ ” he added, striking his hand on the breech of 
his rifle; “and that in itself is a victory. These Iroquois 
^re cunning, but they outwitted themselves when they 


148 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


placed their fire-arms out of reach; and had Uncas or his 
father been gifted with only their common Indian patience, 
we should have come in upon the knaves with three bullets 
instead of one, and that would have made a finish of the 
whole pack; yon loping varlet, as well as his commerades. 
But ’twas all foreordered, and for the best.” 

“Thou sayest well,” returned David, “and hast caught 
the true spirit of Christianity. He that is to be saved will 
be saved, and he that is predestined to be damned will be 
damned. This is the doctrine of truth, and most consoling 
and refreshing it is to the true believer.” 

The scout, "Who by this time was seated, examining into 
the state of his rifle with a species of parental assiduity, 
now looked up at the other in a displeasure that he did 
not affect to conceal, roughly interrupting further speech. 

“Doctrine or no doctrine,” said the sturdy woodsman, 
“ ’tis the belief of knaves, and the curse of an honest man. 
I can credit that yonder Huron was to fall by my hand, for 
with my own eyes I have seen it; but nothing short of 
being a witness will cause me to think he had met with any 
reward, or that Chingachgook, there, will be condemned at 
the final day.” 

“You have no warranty for such an audacious doctrine, 
nor any covenant to support it,” cried David, who was 
deeply tinctured with the subtle distinctions which, in his 
time, and more especially in his province, had been drawn 
around the beautiful simplicity of revelation by endeavor- 
ing to penetrate the awful mystery of the divine nature, 
supplying faith by self-sufficiency, and by consequence, in- 
volving those who reasoned from such human dogmas in 
absurdities and doubt; “your temple is reared on the sands, 
and the first tempest will wash away its foundation. I 
demand your authorities for such an uncharitable assertion 
(like other advocates of a system, David was not always 
accurate in his use of terms). Name chapter and verse; 
in which of the holy books do you find language to support 
you?” 

“Book!” repeated Hawkeye, with singular and ill-con- 
cealed disdain; “do you take me for a whimpering boy at 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


149 


the apron-string of one of your old gals; and this good rifle 
on my knee for the feather of a goose’s wing, my ox’s horn 
for a bottle of ink, and my leathern pouch for a cross-barred 
handkercher to carry my dinner? Book! what have such 
as I, who am a warrior of the wilderness, though a man 
without a cross, to do with books? I never read but in 
one, and the words that are written there are too simple and 
too plain to need much schooling; though I may boast that 
of forty long and hard-working years.” 

“What call you the volume?” said David, misconceiving 
the other’s meaning. 

“ ’Tis open before your eyes,” returned the scout; “and 
he who owns it is not a niggard of its use. I have heard 
it said that there are men who read in books to convince 
themselves there is a God. I know not but man may so 
deform his works in the settlement as to leave that which 
is so clear in the wilderness a matter of doiibt among traders 
and priests. If any such there be, and he will follow me 
from sun to sun, through the windings of the forest, he 
shall see enough to teach him that he is a fool, and that 
the greatest of his folly lies in striving to rise to the level 
of One he can never equal, be it in goodness, or be it in 
power.” 

The instant David discovered that he battled with a dis- 
putant who imbibed his faith from the lights of nature, 
eschewing all subtleties of doctrine, he willingly abandoned 
a controversy from which he believed neither profit nor 
credit was to be derived. While the scout was speaking, 
he had also seated himself, and producing the ready little 
volume and the iron-rimmed spectacles, he prepared to dis- 
charge a duty which nothing but the unexpected assault he 
had received in his orthodoxy could have so long suspended. 
He was, in truth, a minstrel of the western continent — of 
a much later day, certainly, than those gifted bards who 
formerly sang the profane renown of baron and prince, 
but after the spirit of his own age and country; and he 
was now prepared to exercise the cunning of his craft in 
celebration of, or rather in thanksgiving for, the recent vic- 
tory. He waited patiently for Hawkeye to cease; then lift- 


150 THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 

ing his eyes, together with his voice, he said, aloud,— 

‘T invite you, friends, to join in praise for this signal 
deliverance from the hands of barbarians and infidels, to the 
comfortable and solemn tones of the tune called ‘North- 
ampton.’ ” 

He next named the page and verse where the rhymes se- 
lected were to be found, and applied the pitch-pipe to his 
lips with the decent gi’avity that he had been wont to use 
in the temple. This time he was, however, without any 
accompaniment, for the sisters were just then pouring out 
those tender effusions of affection which have been already 
alluded to. Nothing deterred by the smallness of his audi- 
ence, which, in truth, consisted only of the discontented 
scout, he raised his voice, commencing and ending 
the sacred song without accident or interruption of any 
kind. 

Hawkeye listened, while he coolly adjusted his flint and 
reloaded his rifle; but the sounds, wanting the extraneous 
assistance of scene and sympathy, failed to awaken his 
slumbering emotions. Never minstrel, or by whatever 
more suitable name David should be known, drew upon his 
talents in the presence of more insensible auditors; though, 
considering the singleness and sincerity of his motive, it is 
probable that no bard of profane song ever uttered notes 
that descended so near to that throne where all homage and 
praise is due. The scout shook his head, and muttering 
some unintelligible words, among which “throat” and “Iro- 
quois” were alone audible, he walked away, to collect, 
and to examine into, the state of the captured arsenal of 
the Hurons. In this office he was now joined by Chingach- 
gook, who found his own, as well as the rifle of his son, 
among the arms. Even Heyward and David were fur- 
nished with weapons; nor was ammunition wanting to ren- 
der them all effectual. 

When the foresters had made their selection and dis- 
tributed their prizes, the scout announced that the hour 
had arrived when it was necessary to move. By this time 
the song of Gamut had ceased, and the sisters had learned 
to still the exhibition of their emotions. Aided by Duncan 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. lol 

and the younger Mohican, the two latter descended the 
precipitous sides of that hill which they had so lately as- 
cended under so very different auspices, and whose summit 
had so nearly proved the scene of their massacre. At the 
foot, they found the Narragansetts browsing the herbage of 
the bushes; and having mounted, they followed the move- 
ments of a guide who, in the most deadly straits, had so 
often proved himself their friend. The journey was, how- 
ever, short. Hawkeye, leaving the blind path that the 
Hurons had followed, turned short to his right; and, enter- 
ing the thicket, he crossed a babbling brook and halted in 
a narrow dell, under the shade of a few water elms. Their 
distance from the base of the fatal hill was but a few rods, 
and the steeds had -been serviceable only in crossing the 
shallow stream. 

The scout and the Indians appeared to be familiar with 
the sequestered place where they now were; for, leaning 
their rifles against the trees, they commenced throwing 
aside the dried leaves and opening the blue clay, out of 
which a clear and sparkling spring of bright, glancing water 
quickly bubbled. The white man then looked about him, 
as though seeking for some object which was not to be 
found as readily as he expected: — 

“Them careless imps, the Mohawks, with their Tusca- 
rora and Onondaga brethren, have been here slaking their 
thirst,” he muttered, “and the vagabonds have thrown 
away the gourd! This is the way with benefits, when they 
are bestowed on such disremembering hounds! Here has 
the Lord laid his hand, in the midst of the howling wilder- 
ness, for their good, and raised a fountain of water from the 
bowels of the 'arth, that might laugh at the richest shop of 
apothecary’s ware in all the colonies; and see! the knaves 
have trodden in the clay, and deformed the cleanliness of 
the place, as though they were brute beasts, instead of 
human men.” 

Uncas silently extended toward him the desired gourd, 
which the spleen of Hawkeye had hitherto prevented him 
from observing on a branch of an elm. Filling it with 
water, he retired a short distance, to a place where the 


152 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


ground was more firm and dry; here he coolly seated him- 
self, and after taking a long, and, apparently, a grateful 
draught, he commenced a very strict examination of the 
fragments of food left by the Hurons, which had hung in a 
wallet on his arm. 

“Thank you, lad!” he continued, returning the empty 
gourd to Uncas; “now we will see how these rampaging 
Hurons lived, when outlying in ambushments. Look at 
this! The varlets know the better pieces of the deer; and 
one would think they might carve and roast a saddle equal 
to the best cook in the land! But everything is raw, for 
the Iroquois are thorough savages. Uncas, take my steel, 
and kindle a fire; a mouthful of a tender broil will give 
natur’ a helping hand, after so long a trail.” 

Heyward, perceiving that their guides now set about 
their repast in sober earnest, assisted the ladies to alight, 
and placed himself at their side, not unwilling to enjoy 
a few moments of grateful rest, after the bloody scene he 
had just gone through. While the culinary process was 
in hand, curiosity induced him to inquire into the circum- 
stances which had led to their timely and unexpected 
rescue: — 

“How is it that we see you so soon, my generous friend,” 
he asked, “and without aid from the garrison of Edward?” 

“Had we gone to the bend in the river, we might have 
been in time to rake the leaves over your bodies, but too 
late to have saved your scalps,” coolly answered the scout. 
“No, no; instead of throwing away strength and oppor- 
tunity by crossing to the fort, we lay by, under the bank of 
the Hudson, waiting to watch the movements of the 
Hurons.” 

“You were, then, witnesses of all that passed?” 

“Not of all; for Indian sight is too keen to be easily 
cheated, and we kept close. A difficult matter it was, too, 
to keep this Mohican boy snug in the ambushment. Ah! 
Uncas, Uncas, your behavior was more like that of a 
curious woman than of a warrior on his scent!” 

Uncas permitted his eyes to turn for an instant on the 
sturdy countenance of the speaker, but he neither spoke 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


153 


nor gave any indication of repentance. On the contrary, 
Heyward thought the manner of the young Mohican was dis- 
dainful, if not a little fierce, and that he suppressed pas- 
sions that were ready to explode, as much in compliment to 
the listeners, as from the deference he usually paid to his 
white associate. ' 

“You saw our capture?” Heyward next demanded. 

“We heard it,” was the significant answer. “An Indian 
yell is plain language to men who have passed their days in 
the woods. But when you landed, we were driven to crawl, 
like sarpents, beneath the leaves; and then we lost sight of 
you entirely, until we placed eyes on you again, trussed to 
the trees, and ready bound for an Indian massacre.” 

“Our rescue was the deed of Providence. It was nearly a 
miracle that you did not mistake the path, for the Hurons 
divided, and each band had its horses.” 

“Ay! there we were thrown off the scent, and might, 
indeed, have lost the trail, had it not been for Uncas; we 
took the path, however, that led into the wilderness; for we 
judged, and judged rightly, that the savages would hold 
that course with their prisoners. But when we had fol- 
lowed it for many miles, without finding a single twig 
broken, as I had advised, my mind misgave me; especially 
as all the footsteps had the prints of moccasins.” 

“Our captors had the precaution to see us shod like 
themselves,” said Duncan, raising a foot, and exhibiting the 
buckskin he wore. 

“Ay, ’twas judgmatical, and like themselves; though we 
were too expert to be thrown from a trail by so common an 
invention.” 

“To what, then, are we indebted for our safety?” ' 

“To what, as a white man who has no taint of Indian 
blood, I should be ashamed to own; to the judgment of the 
young Mohican, in matters which I should know better 
than he, but which I can now hardly believe to be true, 
though my own eyes tell me it is so.” 

“ ’Tis extraordinary! will you not name the reason?” 

‘^Uncas was bold enough to say that the beasts ridden by 
the gentle ones,” continued Hawkeye, glancing his eyes. 


154 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


not without curious interest, on the fillies of the ladies, 
“planted the legs on one side on the ground at the same 
time, which is contrary to the movements of all trotting 
four-footed animals of my knowledge, except the bear. 
And yet here are horses that always journey in this manner, 
as my own eyes have seen, and as their trail has shown for 
twenty long miles.” 

“ ’Tis the merit of the animal! They come from the 
shores of Narragansett Bay, in the small province of Provi- 
•dence Plantations, and are celebrated for their hardihood, 
and the ease of this peculiar movement; though other 
horses are not unfrequently trained to the same.” 

“It may be — it may be,” said Hawkeye, who had listened 
with singular attention to this explanation; “though I am 
a man who has the full blood of the whites, my judgment in 
deer and beaver is greater than in beasts of burden. Major 
Effingham has many noble chargers, but I have never seen 
one travel after such a sideling gait.” 

“True; for he would value the animals for very different 
properties. Still is this a breed highly esteemed, and as you 
witness, much honored with the burdens it is often destined 
to bear.” 

The Mohicans had suspended their operations about the 
glimmering fire, to listen; and when Duncan had done, 
they looked at each other significantly, the father utter- 
ing the never-failing exclamation of surprise. The scout 
ruminated, like a man digesting his newly acquired 
knowledge, and once more stole a curious glance at the 
horses. 

“I dare to say there are even stranger sights to be seen in 
the settlements!” he said at length; “natur’ is sadly 
abused by man, when he once gets the mastery. But, go 
sideling or go straight, Uncas had seen the movement, 
and their trail led us on to the broken bush. The outer 
branch, near the prints of one of the horses, was bent 
upward, as a lady breaks a flower from the stem; but all 
the rest were ragged and broken down, as if the strong hand 
of a man had been tearing them! So I concluded that the 
cunning varmints had seen the twig bent, and had torn the 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 155 

rest, to make us believe a buck had been feeling the boughs 
with his antlers.” 

“I do believe your sagacity did not deceive you; for 
some such thing occurred.” 

“That was easy to see,” added the scout, in no degree 
conscious of having exhibited any extraordinary sagacity; 
“and a very different matter it was from a waddling horse! 
It then struck me the Mingoes would push for this spring, 
for the knaves well know the vartue of its waters!” 

“Is it, then, so famous?” demanded Heyward, examin- 
ing, with a more curious eye, the secluded dell, with its 
bubbling fountain, surrounded, as it was, by earth of a deep 
dingy brown. 

“Pew redskins, who travel south and east of the great 
lakes, but have heard of its qualities. Will you taste for 
yourself?” 

Heyward took the gourd, and after swallowing a little of 
the water, threw it aside with grimaces of discontent. The 
scout laughed in his silent, but heartfelt manner, and shook 
his head with vast satisfaction. 

“Ah! you want the flavor that one gets by habit; the 
time was when I liked it as little as yourself; but I have 
come to my taste, and I now crave it, as a deer does the 
licks.^ Your high-spiced wines are not better liked than a 
redskin relishes this w^ater; especially when his natur’ is 
ailing. But Uncas has made his Are, and it is time we think 
of eating, for our journey is long, and all before us.” 

Interrupting the dialogue by this abrupt transition, the 
scout had instant recourse to the fragments of food which 
had escaped the voracity of the Hurons. A very summary 
process completed the simple cookery, when he and the 
Mohicans commenced their humble meal, with the silence 
and characteristic diligence of men who ate in order to 
enable themselves to endure great and unremitting toil. 

1 Many of the animals of the American forests resort to those spots 
where salt springs are found. These are called “licks” or “salt 
licks,” in the language of the country, from the circumstance that 
the quadruped is often obliged to lick the earth, in order to obtain 
the saline particles. These licks are great places of resort with the 
hunters, who waylay their game near the paths that lead to them. 
[Cooper’s note.] 


156 THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 

When this necessary, and, happily, grateful duty had 
been performed, each of the foresters stooped and took a 
long and parting draught at that solitary and silent spring,* 
around which and its sister fountains, within fifty years, 
the wealth, beauty, and talents of a hemisphere were to 
assemble in throngs, in pursuit of health and pleasure. 
Then Hawkeye announced his determination to proceed. 
The sisters resumed their saddles; Duncan and David 
grasped their rifles, and followed on their footsteps, the 
scout leading the advance, and the Mohicans bringing up 
the rear. The whole party moved swiftly through the 
narrow path, toward the north, leaving the healing waters 
to mingle unheeded with the adjacent brooks, and the bodies 
of the dead to fester on the neighboring mount, without the 
rites of sepulture; a fate but too common to the warriors of 
the woods to excite either commiseration or comment. 


CHAPTER XHI 

I’ll seek a readier path. 


—Parnell. 


The route taken by Hawkeye lay across those sandy 
plains, relieved by occasional valleys and swells of land, 
which had been traversed by their party on the morning of 
the same day, with the baflled Magua for their guide. The 
sun had now fallen low toward the distant mountains; and 
as their journey lay through the interminable forest, the 
heat was no longer oppressive. Their progress, in conse- 
quence, was proportionate; and long before the twilight 
gathered about them they had made good many toilsome 
miles on their return. 

The hunter, like the savage whose place he filled, 
seemed to select among the blind signs of their wild route, 
with a species of instinct, seldom abating his speed and 
never pausing to deliberate. A rapid and oblique glance 


1 The scene of the foregoing incidents is on the spot where the village 
of Ballston now stands; one of the two principal watering-places of 
America. [Cooper’s note.] This note was written seventy years ago. 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


157 


at the moss on the trees, with an occasional upward gaze 
toward the setting sun, or a steady but passing look at the 
direction of the numerous watercourses through which he 
waded, were sufficient to determine his path and remove his 
greatest difficulties. In the meantime the forest began to 
change its hues, losing that lively green which had em- 
bellished its arches, in the graver light which is the usual 
precursor of the close of day. 

While the eyes of the sisters were endeavoring to catch 
glimpses through the trees of the flood of golden glory 
which formed a glittering halo around the sun, tinging 
here and there with ruby streaks, or bordering with narrow 
edgings of shining yellow a mass of clouds that lay piled at 
no great distance above the western hills, Hawkeye turned 
suddenly, and, pointing upward toward the gorgeous hea- 
vens, he spoke: — 

“Yonder is the signal given to a man to seek his food 
and natural rest,” he said: “better and wiser would it be, if 
he could understand the signs of nature, and take a lesson 
from the fowls of the air and the beasts of the fleld! Our 
night, however, will soon be over; for, with the moon, we 
must be up and moving again. I remember to have fou’t 
the Maquas, hereaways, in the flrst war in which I ever 
drew blood from man; and we threw up a work of blocks 
to keep the ravenous varmints from handling our scalps. 
If my marks do not fail me we shall And the place a few 
rods further to our left.” 

Without waiting for an assent, or, indeed, for any reply, 
the sturdy hunter moved boldly into a dense thicket of 
young chestnuts, shoving aside the branches of the exu- 
berant shoots which nearly covered the ground, like a man 
who expected at each step to discover some object he had 
formerly known. The recollection of the scout did not 
deceive him. After penetrating through the brush, matted 
as it was with briers, for a few hundred feet, he entered an 
open space that surrounded a low green hillock which was 
crowned by the decayed block-house in question. This rude 
and neglected building was one of those deserted works 
which, having been thrown up on an emergency, had beep 


158 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


abandoned with the disappearance of danger, and was now 
quietly crumbling in the solitude of the forest, neglected, 
and nearly forgotten, like the circumstances which had 
caused it to be reared. Such memorials of the passage and 
struggles of man are yet frequent throughout the broad 
barrier of wilderness which once separated the hostile 
provinces, and form a species of ruins that are intimately 
associated with the recollections of colonial history, and 
which are in appropriate keeping with the gloomy character 
of the surrounding scenery.^ The roof of bark had long 
since fallen and mingled with the soil; but the huge logs 
of pine, which had been hastily thrown together, still pre- 
served their relative positions, though one angle of the work 
had given way under the pressure, and threatened a speedy 
downfall to the remainder of the rustic edifice. While 
Heyward and his companions hesitated to approach a build- 
ing so decayed, Hawkeye and the Indians entered within 
the low walls, not only without fear but with obvious inter- 
est. While the former surveyed the ruins, both internally 
and externally, with the curiosity of one whose recollections 
were reviving at each moment, Chingachgook related to his 
son, in the language of the Delawares, and with the pride 
of a conqueror, the brief history of the skirmish which had 
been fought in his youth in that secluded spot. A strain of 
melancholy, however, blended with his triumph, rendering 
his voice, as usual, soft and musical. 

In the meantime, the sisters gladly dismounted and pre- 
pared to enjo.y their halt in the coolness of the evening, and 


Some years since, the writer was shooting in the vicinity of the 
rains of Fort Oswego, which stands on the shores of Lake Ontario, 
wis game was deer, and his chase a forest that stretched, with little 
interruption, fifty miles inland. Unexpectedly he came upon six or 
eight ladders lying iu the woods within a short distance of each 
otner. They were rudely made, and much decayed. Wondering what 
could have assembled so many of these instruments in such a place, 
he sought an old man who resided near for the explanation. 

During the war of 1776 Fort Oswego was held by the British. An 
expedition had been sent two hundred miles through the wilderness 
to surprise the fort. It appears that the Americans, on reaching the 
spot named, which was within a mile or two of the fort, first learned 
that they were expected, and in gi-eat danger of being cut off. They 
threw away their scaling-ladders, and made a rapid retreat. These 
ladders had lain unmolested thirty years, in the siiot where thev had 
t-hus been cast. [Cooper’s note.] ' ^ • 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 159 

in a security which they believed nothing but the beasts of 
the forest could invade. 

“Would not our resting-place have been more retired, 
my worthy friend,” demanded the more vigilant Duncan, 
perceiving that the scout had already finished his short 
survey, “had we chosen a spot less known, and one more 
rarely visited than this?” 

“Few live who know the block-house was ever raised,” 
was the slow and musing answer; “ 'tis not often that books 
are made and narratives written of such a scrimmage as 
was here fou’t atween the Mohicans and the Mohawks in a 
war of their own waging. I was then a younker, and went 
out with the Delawares, because I know’d they were a scan- 
dalized and wronged race. Forty days and forty nights did 
the imps crave our blood around this pile of logs, which I 
designed and partly reared, being, as you’ll remember, no 
Indian myself, but a man without a cross. The Delawares 
lent themselves to the work, and we made it good, ten to 
twenty, until our numbers were nearly equal, and then we 
sallied out upon the hounds, and not a man of them ever 
got back to tell the fate of his party. Yes, yes; I was then 
young, and new to the sight of blood; and not relishing the 
thought that creatures who had spirits like myself should 
lay on the naked gi’ound, to be torn asunder by beasts, or to 
bleach in the rains, I buried the dead with my own hands, 
under that very little hillock where you have placed your- 
selves; and no bad seat does it make neither, though it be 
raised by the bones of mortal men.” 

Heyward and the sisters arose, on the instant, from the 
grassy sepulchre; nor could the two latter, notwithstanding 
the terrific scenes they had so recently passed through, 
entirely suppress an emotion of natural horror when they 
found themselves in such familiar contact with the grave of 
the dead Mohawks. The gray light, the gloomy little area 
of dark grass, surrounded by its border of brush, beyond 
which the pines rose, in breathing silence, apparently into 
the very clouds, and the deathlike stillness of the vast 
forest, were all in unison to deepen such a sensation. 

“They are gone, and they are harmless,” continuecl 


160 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


Hawkeye, waving his hand, with a melancholy smile, at 
their manifest alarm: “they’ll never shout the war-whoop 
nor strike a blow with the tomahawk again! And of all 
those who aided in placing them where they lie, Chingach- 
gook and I only are living! The brothers and family of 
the Mohican formed our war-party; and you see before you 
all that are now left of his race.” 

Uie^ eyes of the listeners involuntarily sought the forms 

of the Indians, with a compassionate interest in their deso- 
late fortune. The dark persons were still to be seen within 
the shadows of the block-house, the son listening to the 
relation of his father with that sort of intenseness which 
would be created by a narrative that redounded so much to 
the honor of those whose names he had long revered for 
their courage and savage virtues. 

“I had thought the Delawares a pacific people,” said 
Duncan, “and that they never waged war in person; trust- 
ing the defense of their lands to those very Mohawks that 
you slew!” 

“ ’Tis true in part,” returned the scout, “and yet, at the 
bottom, ’tis a wicked lie. Such a treaty was made in ages 
gone by, through the deviltries of the Dutchers, who wished 
to disarm the natives that had the best right to the country 
where they had settled themselves. The Mohicans, though 
a part of the same nation, having to deal with the English, 
never entered into the silly bargain, but kept to their man- 
hood; as in truth did the Delawares, when their eyes were 
opened to their folly. You see before you a chief of the 
great Mohican Sagamores! Once his family could chase 
their deer over tracts of country wider than that which be- 
longs to the Albany Patteroon,^ without crossing brook or 
hill that was not their own; but what is left to their de- 
scendant? He may find his six feet of earth when God 
chooses, and keep it in peace, perhaps, if he has a friend 

1 Patroon [compare “patron”]: landed proprietor. Many New York 
farmers held leases in feudal tenure. Large landed estates were 
the rule in the Colonial South, where slavery made them profitable. They 
never flourished in New England, in spite of such efforts as that of Gen- 
eral Knox to establish what Hawthorne called an “American scheme 
of aristocracy.” Cooper, himself a landed proprietor, defended the 
patroon system in three of bis later novels, 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 161 

who will take the pains to sink his head so low that the 
ploughshares cannot reach it!” 

“Enough!” said Heyward, apprehensive that the sub- 
ject might lead to a discussion that would interrupt the 
harmony so necessary to the preservation of his fair com- 
panions; “we have journeyed far, and few among us are 
blessed with forms like that of yours, which seems to know 
neither fatigue nor weakness.” 

“The sinews and bones of a man carry me through it 
all,” said the hunter, surveying his muscular limbs with a 
simplicity that betrayed the honest pleasure the compliment 
afforded him; “there are larger and heavier men to be 
found in the settlements, but you might travel many days 
in a city before you could meet one able to walk fifty miles 
without stopping to take breath, or who has kept the 
hounds within hearing during a chase of hours. However, 
as flesh and blood are not always the same, it is quite reason- 
able to suppose that the gentle ones are willing to rest, 
after all they have seen and done this day. Uncas, clear 
out the spring, while your father and I make a cover for 
their tender heads of these chestnuts shoots, and a bed of 
grass and leaves.” 

The dialogue ceased, while the hunter and his compan- 
ions busied themselves in preparations for the comfort and 
protection of those they guided. A spring, which many 
long years before had induced the natives to select the place 
for their temporary fortification, was soon cleared of leaves, 
and a fountain of crystal gushed from the bed, diffusing 
its waters over the verdant hillock. A corner of the build- 
ing was then roofed in such a manner as to exclude 
the heavy dew of the climate, and piles of sweet shrubs 
and dried leaves were laid beneath it for the sisters to 
repose on. 

While the diligent woodsmen were employed in this man- 
ner, Cora and Alice partook of that refreshment which 
duty required much more than inclination prompted them 
to accept. They then retired within the walls, and first 
offering up their thanksgivings for past mercies, and 
petitioning for a continuance of the Divine favor through- 
11 


162 THE LAST OP tME MOHICANS. 

out the coming night, they laid their tender forms on the 
fragrant couch, and in spite of recollections and, forebod- 
ings soon sank into those slumbers which nature so impe- 
riously demanded, and which were sweetened by hopes for 
the morrow. Duncan had prepared himself to pass the 
night in watchfulness near them, just without the ruin; 
but the scout, perceiving his intention, pointed toward 
Chingachgook, as he coolly disposed his own person on 
the grass, and said — 

“The eyes of a white man are too heavy and too blind 
for such a watch as this! The Mohican will be our sentinel, 
therefore let us sleep.” 

“I proved myself a sluggard on my post during the past 
night,” said Heyward, “and have less need of repose than 
you, who did more credit to the character of a soldier. 
Let all the party seek their rest, then, while I hold the 
guard.”: 

“If we lay among the white tents of the 60th, and in 
front of an enemy like the French, I could not ask for a 
better watchman,” returned the scout; “but in the dark- 
ness and among the signs of the wilderness your judgment 
would be like the folly of a child, and your vigilance thrown 
away. Do then, like Uncas and myself, sleep, and sleep in 
safety.” 

Heyward perceived, in truth, that the younger Indian 
had thrown his form on the side of the hillock while they 
were talking, like one who sought to make the most of the 
time allotted to rest, and that his example had been fol- 
lowed by David, whose voice literally “clove to his jaws,” 
with the fever of his wound, heightened, as it was, by their 
toilsome march. Unwilling to prolong a useless discussion, 
the young man affected to comply, by posting his back 
against the logs of the block-house, in a half-recumbent 
posture, though resolutely determined, in his own mind, not 
to close an eye until he had delivered his precious charge 
into the arms of Munro himself. Hawkeye, believing he 
had prevailed, soon fell asleep; and a silence as deep as the 
solitude in which they had found it pervaded the retired 
spot. 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. • 


163 


For many minutes Duncan succeeded in keeping his 
senses on the alert, and alive to every moaning sound that 
arose from the forest. His vision became more acute as 
the shades of evening settled on the place; and even after 
the stars were glimmering above his head he was able to 
distinguish the recumbent forms of his companions as they 
lay stretched on the grass, and to note the person of Chin- 
gachgook, who sat upright and motionless as one of the 
trees which formed the dark barrier on every side. He still 
heard the gentle breathings of the sisters, who lay within 
a few feet of him; and not a leaf was ruffled by the passing 
air of which his ear did not detect the whispering sound. 
At length, however, the mournful notes of a whippoor- 
will became blended with the meanings of an owl; his 
heavy eyes occasionally sought the bright rays of the stars, 
and then he fancied he saw them through the fallen lids. 
At instants of momentary wakefulness he mistook a bush 
for his associate sentinel; his head next sank upon his 
shoulder, which, in its turn, sought the support of the 
ground; and, finally, his whole person became relaxed and 
pliant, and the young man sank into a deep sleep, dreaming 
that he was a knight of ancient chivalry, holding his 
midnight vigils before the tent of a recaptured princess, 
whose favor he did not despair of gaining by such a proof of 
devotion and watchfulness. 

How long the tired Duncan lay in this insensible state 
he never knew himself, but his slumbering visions had been 
long lost in total forgetfulness, when he was awakened by 
a light tap on the shoulder. Aroused by this signal, slight 
as it was, he sprang upon his feet with a confused recollec- 
tion of the self-imposed duty he had assumed with the com- 
mencement of the night. 

“Who comes?” he demanded, feeling for his sword at 
the place where it was usually suspended. “Speak! friend 
or enemy?” 

“Friend,” replied the low voice of Chingachgook; who, 
pointing upward at the luminary which was shedding its 
mild light through the opening in the trees, directly in 
their bivouac, immediately added, in his rude English, 


164 THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 

“moon comes, and white man’s fort far far off; time to 
move, when sleep shuts hoth eyes of the Frenchman!” 

“You say true! call up your friends, and bridle the 
horses, while I prepare my own companions for the march!” 

“We are awake, Duncan,” said the soft, silvery tones of 
Alice, within the building, “and ready to travel very fast 
after so refreshing a sleep; but you have watched through 
the tedious night in our behalf, after having endured so 
much fatigue the livelong day!” 

“Say, rather, I would have watched, but my treacherous 
eyes betrayed me; twice have I proved myself unfit for the 
trust I bear.” 

“Nay, Duncan, deny it not,” interrupted the smiling 
Alice, issuing from the shadows of the building into the 
light of the moon, in all the loveliness of her freshened 
beauty; “I know you to be a heedless one, when self is 
the object of your care, and but too vigilant in favor of 
others. Can we not tarry here a little longer, while you 
find the res.t you need? Cheerfully, most cheerfully, will 
Cora and I keep the vigils, while you, and all these brave 
men, endeavor to snatch a little sleep!” 

“If shame could cure me of my drowsiness, I should 
never close an eye again,” said the uneasy youth, gazing at 
the ingenuous countenance of Alice, where, however, in its 
sweet solicitude, he read nothing to confirm his half awak- 
ened suspicion. “It is but too true, that after leading 
you into danger by my heedlessness, I have not even the 
merit of guarding your pillows as should become a 
soldier.” 

“No one but Duncan himself should accuse Duncan of 
such a weakness. Go, then, and sleep; believe me, neither 
of us, weak girls as we are, will betray our watch.” 

The young man was relieved from the awkwardness of 
making, any further protestations of his own demerits, by 
an exclamation from Chingachgook, and the attitude of 
riveted attention assumed by his son. 

“The Mohicans hear an enemy!” whispered Hawkeye, 
who, by this time, in common with the whole party, was 
awake and stirring. “They scent danger in the wind!” 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 165 

“God forbid!” exclaimed Heyward. “Surely we have 
had enough of bloodshed!” 

While he spoke, however, the young soldier seized his 
rifle, and advancing toward the front, prepared to atone 
for his venial remissness by freely exposing his life in 
defense of those he attended. 

“ ’Tis some creature of the forest prowling around us in 
quest of food,” he said, in a whisper, as soon as the low 
and apparently distant sounds . which had startled the 
Mohicans reached his own ears. 

“Hist!” returned the attentive scout; “’tis man; even 
I can now tell his tread, poor as my senses are when com- 
pared to an Indian’s! That scampering Huron has fallen 
in with one of Montcalm’s outlying parties, and they have 
struck upon our trail. I shouldn’t like, myself, to spill 
more human blood in this spot,” he added, looking around 
with anxiety in his features, at the dim objects by which he 
was surrounded; “but what must be, must! Lead the 
horses into the block-house, Uncas; and, friends, do you 
follow to the same shelter. Poor and old as it is, it offers 
a cover, and has rung with the crack of a rifle afore to- 
night!” 

He was instantly obeyed, the Mohicans leading the Nar- 
ragansetts within the ruin, whither the whole party re- 
paired with the most guarded silence. 

The sounds of approaching footsteps were now too dis- 
tinctly audible to leave any doubts as to the nature of the 
interruption. They were soon mingled with voices calling 
to each other in an Indian dialect which the hunter, in a 
whisper, affirmed to Heyward was the language of the Hu- 
rons. When the party reached the point where the horses 
had entered the thicket which surrounded the block-house, 
they were evidently at fault, having lost those marks which 
until that, moment had directed their pursuit. 

It would seem by the voices that twenty men were soon 
collected at that one spot, mingling their different opinions 
and advice in noisy clamor. 

“The knaves know our weakness,” whispered Hawkeye, 
who stood by the side of Heyward, in deep shade, looking 


IGG THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 

through an opening in the logs, “or they wouldn’t indulge 
their idleness in such a squaw’s march. Listen to the rep- 
tiles! each man among them seems to have two tongues, 
and but a single leg.” 

Duncan, brave as he was in the combat, could not, in 
such a moment of painful suspense, make any reply to the 
cool and characteristic remark of the scout. He only 
grasped his rifle more flrmly, and fastened his eyes upon the 
narrow opening, through which he gazed upon the moon- 
light view with increasing anxiety. The deeper tones of 
one who spoke as having authority were next heard, amid 
a silence that denoted the respect with which his orders, or 
rather advice, was received; after which, by the rustling 
of leaves, and cracking of dried twigs, it was apparent the 
savages were separating in pursuit of the lost trail. For- 
tunately for the pursued, the light of the moon, while it 
shed a flood of mild luster upon the little area around the 
ruin, was not sufficiently strong to penetrate the deep 
arches of the forest, where the objects still lay in deceptive 
shadow. The search proved fruitless; for so short and 
sudden had been the passage from the faint path the trav- 
ellers had journeyed into the thicket, that every trace of 
their footsteps was lost in the obscurity of the woods. 

It was not long, however, before the restless savages 
were heard beating the brush, and gradually approaching 
the inner edge of that dense border of young chestnuts 
which encircled the little area. 

“They are coming,” muttered Heyward, endeavoring to 
thrust his rifle through the chink in the logs; “let us fire 
on their approach.” 

“Keep everything in the shade,” returned the scout; 
“the snapping of a flint, or even the smell of a single kar- 
nel of the brimstone, would bring the hungry varlets upon 
us in a body. Should it please God that we must give bat- 
tle for the scalps, trust to the experience of men who know 
the ways of the savages, and who are not often backward 
when the war-whoop is howled.” 

Duncan cast his eyes behind him, and saw that the 
trembling sisters were cowering in the far corner of the 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


16 ? 


building, while the Mohicans stood in the shadow, like two 
upright posts, ready and apparently willing to strike when 
the blow should be needed. Curbing his impatience, he 
again looked out upon the area, and awaited the result in 
silence. At that instant the thicket opened, and a tall and 
armed Huron advanced a few paces into the open space. As 
he gazed upon the silent block-house, the moon fell upon 
his swarthy countenance, and betrayed its surprise and 
curiosity. He made the exclamation which usually accom- 
panies the former emotion in an Indian, and, calling in a 
low voice, soon drew a companion to his side. 

These children of the woods stood together for several 
moments, pointing at the crumbling edifice and conversing 
in the unintelligible language of their tribe. They then 
approached, though with slow and cautious steps, pausing 
every instant to look at the building, like startled deer 
whose curiosity struggled powerfully with their awakened 
apprehensions for the mastery. The foot of one of them 
suddenly rested on the mound, and he stooped to examine 
Its nature. At this moment Heyward observed that the 
scout loosened his knife in his sheath and lowered the 
muzzle of his rifle. Imitating these movements, the young 
man prepared himself for the struggle which now seemed 
Inevitable. 

The savages were so near that the least motion in one 
of the horses, or even a breath louder than common, would 
have betrayed the fugitives. But, in discovering the char- 
acter of the mound, the attention of the Hurons appeared 
directed to a different object. They spoke together, and 
the sounds of their voices were low and solemn, as if influ- 
enced by a reverence that was deeply blended with awe. 
Then they drew warily back, keeping their eyes riveted on 
the ruin as if they expected to see the apparitions of the 
dead issue from its silent walls, until, having reached the 
boundary of the area, they moved slowly into the thicket 
and disappeared. 

Hawkeye dropped the breech of his rifle to the earth, 
and, drawing a long, free breath, exclaimed in an audible 
whisper, — 


168 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


“Ay! they respect the dead, and it has this time saved 
their own lives, and, it may be, the lives of better men 
too.” 

Heyward lent his attention for a single moment to his 
companion, but without replying, he again turned toward 
those who just then interested him more. He heard the 
two Hurons leave the bushes, and it was soon plain that all 
the pursuers were gathered about them, in deep attention 
to their report. After a few minutes of earnest and solemn 
dialogue, altogether different from the noisy clamor with 
which they had first collected about the spot, the sounds 
grew fainter and more distant, and finally were lost in the 
depths of the forest. 

Hawkeye waited until a signal from the listening Chin- 
gachgook assured him that every sound from the retiring 
party was completely swallowed by the distance, when he 
motioned to Heyward to lead forth the horses, and to assist 
the sisters into their saddles. The instant this was done 
they issued through the broken gateway, and, stealing out 
by a direction opposite to the one by which they had en- 
tered, they quitted the spot, the sisters casting furtive 
glances at the silent grave and crumbling ruin, as they left 
the soft light of the moon to bury themselves in the gloom 
of the woods. 


CHAPTER XIV" 

Guard. Qui est la? 

Puc. Paisans, pauvres gens de France.* 

—King Henry VI. 

During the rapid movement from the block-house, and 
until the party was deeply buried in the forest, each indi- 
vidual was too much interested in the escape to hazard a 
word even in whispers. The scout resumed his post in the 
advance, though his steps, after he had thrown a safe dis- 

^ Before beginning this chapter consult a dictionary and see a picture 
of the parts of a fort. The words “glacis,” “bastion,” and “curtain” will 
soon occur in the text. 

* “Who is there?” “Peasants, poor people of France.” 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


169 


tance between himself and his enemies, were more deliber- 
ate than in their previous march, in consequence of his 
utter ignorance of the localities of the surrounding woods. 
More than once he halted to consult with his confederates, 
the Mohicans, pointing upward at the moon, and ex- 
amining the barks of the trees with care. In these brief 
pauses, Heyward and the sisters listened, with senses ren- 
dered doubly acute by the danger, to detect any symptoms 
which might announce the proximity of their foes. At 
such moments, it seemed as if a vast range of country lay 
buried in eternal sleep, not the least sound arising from 
the forest, unless it was the distant and scarcely audible 
rippling of a water-course. Birds, beasts, and man, ap- 
peared to slumber alike, if, indeed, any of the latter were 
to be found in that wide tract of wilderness. But the 
sounds of the rivulet, feeble and murmuring as they were, 
relieved the guides at once from no trifling embarrass- 
ment, and toward it they immediately held their way. 

When the banks of the little stream were gained, Hawk- 
eye made another halt; and, taking the moccasins from his 
feet, he invited Heyward and Gamut to follow his example. 
He then entered the water, and for near an hour they trav- 
elled in the bed of the brook, leaving no trail. The moon 
had already sunk into an immense pile of black clouds, 
which lay impending above the western horizon, when they 
issued from the low and devious water-course to rise again 
to the light and level of the sandy but wooded plain. 
Here the scout seemed to be once more at home, for he 
held on his way with the certainty and diligence of a man 
who moved in the security of his own knowledge. The 
path soon became more uneven, and the travellers could 
plainly perceive that the mountains drew nigher to them 
on each hand, and that they were, in truth, about entering 
one of their gorges. Suddenly Hawkeye made a pause, 
and, waiting until he was joined by the whole party, he 
spoke, though in tones so low and cautious that they added 
to the solemnity of his words, in the quiet and darkness 
of the place. 

“It is easy to know the pathways, and to And the licks 


170 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


and water-courses of the wilderness,” he said; “but who 
that saw this spot could venture to say that a mighty 
army was at rest among yonder silent trees and barren 
mountains?” 

“We are then at no great distance from William Henry?” 
said Heyward, advancing nigher to the scout. 

“It is yet a long and weary path, and when and where 
to strike it, is now our greatest difficulty. See,” he said, 
pointing through the trees toward a spot where a little 
basin of water reflected the stars from its placid bosom, 
“here is the ‘bloody pond’; and I am on the ground that 
I have not only often travelled, but over which I have 
fou’t the enemy from the rising to the setting sun.” 

“Ha! that sheet of dull and dreary water, then, is the 
sepulchre of the brave men who fell in the contest. I have 
heard it named, but never have I stood on its banks 
before.” 

“Three battles did we make with the Dutch-French- 
man^ in a day,” continued Hawkeye, pursuing the train of 
his own thoughts, rather than replying to the remark of 
Duncan. “He met us hard by, in our outward march to 
ambush his advance, and scattered us, like driven deer, 
through the defile, to the shores of Horican. Then we 
rallied behind our fallen trees, and made head against him, 
under Sir William — who was made Sir William for that 
very deed; and well did we pay him for the disgrace of the 
morning! Hundreds of Frenchmen saw the sun that day 
for the last time; and even their leader, Dieskau himself, 
fell into our hands so cut and torn with the lead, that he 
has gone back to his own country, unfit for further acts in 
war.” 

“’Twas a noble repulse!” exclaimed Heyward, in the 
heat of his youthful ardor; “the fame of it reached us 
early, in our southern army.” 

“Ay! but it did not end there. I was sent by Major 
Effingham, at Sir William’s own bidding, to outflank the 

1 Baron Dieskau, a German, in the service of France. A few years 
previous to the period of the tale, this offieer was defeated by Sir 
William Johnson of Johnstown, New York, on the shores of Lake George. 
[Cooper’s note.] 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


in 


French, and carry the tidings of their disaster across the 
portage, to the fort on the Hudson. Just hereaway, where 
you see the trees rise into a mountain swell, I met a party 
coming down to our aid, and I led them where the enemy 
were taking their meal, little dreaming that they had not 
finished the bloody work of the day.” 

“And you surprised them?” 

“If death can be a surprise to men who are thinking 
only of the cravings of their appetites. We gave them 
but little breathing time, for they had borne hard upon us 
in the fight of the morning, and there were few in our 
party who had not lost friend or relative by their hands. 
When all was over, the dead, and some say the dying, were 
cast into that little pond. These eyes have seen its waters 
colored with blood, as natural water never yet flowed from 
the bowels of the ’arth.” 

“It was a convenient, and, I trust, will prove a peace- 
ful grave for a soldier. You have, then, seen much service 
on this frontier?” 

“I?” said the scout, erecting his tall person with an air 
of military pride; “there are not many echoes among 
these hills that haven’t rung with the crack of my rifle, nor 
is there the space of a square mile atwixt Horican and 
the river that ‘Killdeer’ hasn’t dropped a living body on, 
be it an enemy or be it a brute beast. As for the grave, 
there, being as quiet as you mention, it is another matter. 
There are them in the camp who say and think man, to 
lie still, should not be buried while the breath is in the 
body; and certain it is that in the hurry of that evening 
the doctors had but little time to say who was living and 
who was dead. Hist! see you nothing walking on the 
shore of the pond?” 

“’Tis not probable that any are as houseless as our- 
selves, in this dreary forest.” 

“Such as he may care but little for house or shelter, and 
night-dew can never wet a body that passes its days in 
the water,” returned the scout, grasping the shoulder of 
Heyward with such convulsive strength as to make the 
young soldier painfully sensible how much superstitious 


172 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


terror had got the mastery of a man usually so dauntless. 

“By heaven! there is a human form, and it approaches! 
Stand to your arms, my friends; for we know not whom 
we encounter.” 

“Qui vive?”^ demanded a stern, quick voice, which 
sounded like a challenge from another world, issuing out 
of that solitary and solemn place. 

“What says it?” whispered the scout; “it speaks neither 
Indian nor English!” 

“Qui vive?” repeated the same voice, which was quickly 
followed by the rattling of arms, and a menacing attitude. 

“France!” cried Heyward, advancing from the shadow 
of the trees to the shore of the pond, within a few yards of 
the sentinel. 

“D’ou venez-vous— ou allez-vous, d’aussi bonne heure?”^ 
demanded the grenadier, in the language and with the 
accent of a man from old France. 

“Je viens de la d§couverte, et je vais me coucher.” 

“Etes-vous oflacier du roi?” 

“Sans doute, mon camarade; me prends-tu pour un pro- 
vincial? Je suis capitaine de chasseurs [Heyward well 
knew that the other was of a regiment in the line] ; j’ai ici, 
avec moi, les filles du commandant de la fortification. 
Aha! tu en as entendu parler! je les ai fait prisonnidres 
prds de I’autre fort, et je les conduis au general.” 

“Ma foi! mesdames; j’en suis fache pour vous,” ex- 
claimed the young soldier, touching his cap with grace; 
“mais — fortune de guerre! vous trouverez notre g^ndral 
un brave homme, et bien poli avec les dames.” 

“C’est le caract^re des gens de guerre,” said Cora, with 


1 “Who goes there?” 

- “Where do you come from? where are you going, so early?”— “I have 
been reconnoitering, and I am going to bed.”— “Are you an oflacer of 
the king?”— “Undoubtedly, comrade; do you take me for a provincial? I 
am a captain of chasseurs; I have here, with me, the daughters of the 
commander of the fortification. Ha, ha! you have heard of them! I 
made them prisoners near the other fort, and I am taking them to 
the general.”— “Faith! ladies, I am sorry for you; but— the fortune of 
war! You will find our general a worthy man, and very polite with 
ladies.”— “That is the characteristic of soldiers. Farewell, friend; I 
wish, for your sake, that you had a more agreeable duty to perform.” 
—“Good night, comrade.” 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 173 

admirable self-possession. “Adieu, mon ami; je vous sou- 
haiterais un devoir plus agr^able k remplir.” 

The soldier made a low and humble acknowledgment 
for her civility; and Heyward adding a “Bonne nuit, mon 
camarade,” they moved deliberately forward, leaving the 
sentinel pacing the banks of the silent pond, little suspect- 
ing an enemy of so much effrontery, and humming to him- 
self those words which were recalled to his mind by the 
sight of women, and perhaps by recollections of his own 
distant and beautiful France — 

“Vive le vin, vive ramour,” etc., etc, 

“’Tis well you understood the knave!” whispered the 
scout, when they had gained a little distance from the place, 
and letting his rifle fall into the hollow of his arm again; 
“I soon saw that he was one of them uneasy Frenchers; 
and well for him it was that his speech was friendly and 
his wishes kind, or a place might have been found for 
his bones among those of his countrymen.” 

He was interrupted by a long and heavy groan which 
arose from the little basin, as though, in truth, the spirits 
of the departed lingered about their watery sepulchre. 

“Surely it was of flesh!” continued the scout; “no spirit 
could handle its arms so steadily!” 

“It was of flesh; but whether the poor fellow still be- 
longs to this world may well be doubted,” said Heyward, 
glancing his eyes around him, and missing Chingachgook 
from their little band. Another groan, more faint than 
the former, was succeeded by a heavy and sullen plunge 
into the water, and all was as still again as if the borders 
of the dreary pool had never been awakened from the 
silence of creation. While they yet hesitated in uncer- 
tainty, the form of the Indian was seen gliding out of the 
thicket. As the chief rejoined them, with one hand he 
attached the reeking scalp of the unfortunate young French- 
man to his girdle, and with the other he replaced the 
knife and tomahawk that had drunk his blood. He then 
took his wonted station, with the air of a man who be- 
lieved he had done a deed of merit. 


174 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


The scout dropped one end of his rifle to the earth, and, 
leaning his hands on the other, he stood musing in pro- 
found silence. Then shaking his head in a mournful man- 
ner, he muttered, — 

“’Twould have been a cruel and an unhuman act for a 
white-skin; but ’tis the gift and natur’ of an Indian, and I 
suppose it should not be denied. I could wish, though, it 
had befallen an accursed Mingo, rather than that gay young 
boy from the old countries.” 

“Enough!” said Heyward, apprehensive the unconscious 
sisters might comprehend the nature of the detention, and 
conquering his disgust by a train of reflections very much 
like that of the hunter; “’tis done; and though better it 
were left undone, cannot be amended. You see we are, 
too obviously, within the sentinels of the enemy; what 
course do you propose to follow?” 

“Yes,” said Hawkeye, rousing himself again, “ ’tis, as 
you say, too late to harbor further thoughts about it. Ay, 
the French have gathered around the fort in good ear- 
nest, and we have a delicate needle to thread in passing 
them.” 

“And but little time to do it in,” added Heyward, glanc- 
ing his eyes upward toward the bank of vapor that con- 
cealed the setting moon, 

“And little time to do it in!” repeated the scout. “The 
thing may be done in two fashions, by the help of Provi- 
dence, without which it may not be done at all.” 

“Name them quickly, for time presses.” 

“One would be to dismount the gentle ones, and let 
their beasts range the plain; by sending the Mohicans in 
front we might then cut a lane through their sentries, and 
enter the fort over the dead bodies.” 

“It will not do — it will not do!” interrupted the gen- 
erous Heyward; “a soldier might force his way in this 
manner, but never with such a convoy.” 

“ ’Twould be, indeed, a bloody path for such tender feet to 
wade in,” returned the equally reluctant scout; “but I 
thought it befitting my manhood to name it. We must 
then turn on our trail and get without the line of their 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


175 


look-outs, when we will bend short to the west, and enter 
the mountains, where I can hide you so that all the devil’s 
hounds in Montcalm’s pay would be thrown off the scent 
for months to come.” 

“Let it be done, and that instantly.” 

Further words were unnecessary; for Hawkeye, merely 
uttering the mandate to “follow,” moved along the route 
by which they had just entered their present critical and 
even dangerous situation. Their progress, like their late 
dialogue, was guarded, and without noise; for none knew 
at what moment a passing patrol, or a crouching picket of 
the enemy, might rise upon their path. As they held their 
silent way along the margin of the pond, again Heyward 
and the scout stole furtive glances at its appalling dreari- 
ness. They looked in vain for the form they had so re- 
cently seen stalking along its silent shores, while a low and 
regular wash of the little waves, by announcing that the 
w’aters were not yet subsided, furnished a frightful memo- 
rial of the deed of blood they had just witnessed. Like all 
that passing and gloomy scene, the low basin, however, 
quickly melted in the darkness, and became blended with 
the mass of black objects in the rear of the travellers. 

Hawkeye soon deviated from the line of their retreat, 
and, striking off towards the mountains which form the 
western boundary of the narrow plain, he led his follow- 
ers, with swift steps, deep within the shadows that were 
cast from their high and broken summits. The route was 
now painful, lying over ground ragged with rocks, and 
intersected with ravines, and their progress proportion- 
ately slow. Bleak and black hills lay on every side of 
them, compensating in some degree for the additional 
toil of the march by the sense of security they imparted. 
At length the party began slowly to rise a steep and 
rugged ascent by a path that curiously wound among rocks 
and trees, avoiding the one and supported by the other 
in a manner that showed it had been devised by men 
long practiced in the arts of the wilderness. As they grad- 
ually rose from the level of the valleys, the thick dark- 
ness which usually precedes the approach of day began 


176 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


to disperse, and objects were seen in the plain and pal- 
pable colors with which they had been gifted by nature. 
When they issued from the stunted woods which clung to 
the barren sides of the mountain, upon a flat and mossy 
rock that formed its summit, they met the morning as 
it came blushing above the green pines of a hill that lay 
on the opposite side of the valley of the Horican. 

The scout now told the sisters to dismount; and, taking 
the bridles from the mouths and the saddles off the backs 
of the jaded beasts, he turned them loose to glean a scanty 
subsistence among the shrubs and meagre herbage of that 
elevated region. 

“Go,” he said, “and seek your food where natur’ gives 
it you; and beware that you become not food to ravenous 
wolves yourselves, among these hills.” 

“Have we no further need of them?” demanded Hey- 
ward. 

“See, and judge with your own eyes.” said the scout, 
advancing toward the eastern brow of the mountain, 
whither he beckoned for the whole party to follow; “if 
it was as easy to look into the heart of man as it is to 
spy out the nakedness of Montcalm’s camp from this spot, 
hypocrites would grow scarce, and the cunning of a Mingo 
might prove a losing game, compared to the honesty of a 
Delaware.” 

When the travellers reached the verge of the precipice, 
they saw, at a glance, the truth of the scout’s declaration, 
and the admirable foresight with which he had led them to 
their commanding station. 

The mountain on which they stood, elevated perhaps a 
thousand feet in the air, was a high cone that rose a little 
in advance of that range which stretches for miles along 
the western shores of the lake, until, meeting its sister 
piles beyond the water, it ran off toward the Canadas, in 
confused and broken masses of rock, thinly sprinkled with 
evergreens. Immediately at the feet of the party, the 
southern shore of the Horican swept in a broad semicircle, 
from mountain to mountain, marking a wide strand that 
soon rose into an uneven and somewhat elevated plain. 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


177 


To the north stretched the limpid, and, as it appeared from 
that dizzy height, the narrow sheet of the “holy lake,” 
indented with numberless bays, embellished by fantastic 
headlands, and dotted with countless islands. At the dis- 
tance of a few leagues the bed of the waters became lest 
among mountains, or was wrapped in the masses of vapor 
that came slowly rolling along their bosom, before a light 
morning air. But a narrow opening between the crests 
of the hills pointed out the passage by which they found 
their way still further north, to spread their pure and 
ample sheets again, before pouring out their tribute into 
the distant Champlain. To the south stretched the defile, 
or rather broken plain, so often mentioned. For several 
miles in this direction the mountains appeared reluctant 
to yield their dominion, but within reach of the eye they 
diverged, and finally melted into the level and sandy lands 
across which we have accompanied our adventurers in their 
double journey. Along both ranges of hills which bounded 
the opposite sides of the lake and valley, clouds of light 
vapor were rising in spiral wreaths from the uninhabited 
woods, looking like the smokes of hidden cottages; or 
rolled lazily down the declivities to mingle with the fogs 
of the lower land. A single, solitary, snow white cloud 
fioated above the valley, and marked the spot beneath 
which lay the silent pool of the “bloody pond.” 

Directly on the shore of the lake, and nearer to its 
western than to its eastern margin, lay the extensive earth- 
en ramparts and low buildings of William Henry. Two 
of the sweeping bastions appeared to rest on the water 
which washed their bases, while a deep ditch and exten- 
sive morasses guarded its other sides and angles. The 
land had been cleared of wood for a reasonable distance 
around the work, but every other part of the scene lay 
in the green livery of nature, except where the limpid 
water mellowed the view, or the bold rocks thrust their 
black and naked heads above the undulating outline of 
the mountain ranges. In its front might be seen the scat- 
tered sentinels, who held a weary watch against their 
numerous foes*, and within the walls themselves, the trav- 
12 


178 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


ellers looked down upon men still drowsy with a night 
of vigilance. Toward the southeast, but in immediate 
contact with the fort, was an entrenched camp, posted 
on a rocky eminence that would have been far more eligi- 
ble for the work itself, in which Hawkeye pointed out the 
presence of those auxiliary regiments that had so re- 
cently left the Hudson in their company. From the woods, 
a little further to the south, rose numerous dark and 
lurid smokes that were easily to be distinguished from 
the purer exhalations of the springs, and which the scout 
also showed to Heyward as evidences that the enemy lay 
in force in that direction. 

But the spectacle which most concerned the young sol- 
dier was on the western bank of the lake, though quite 
near to its southern termination. On a strip of land which 
appeared, from his stand, too narrow to contain such an 
army, but which in truth extended many hundreds of 
yards from the shores of the Horican to the base of the 
mountain, were to be seen the white tents and military 
engines of an encampment of ten thousand men. Batteries 
were already thrown up in their front, and even while the 
spectators above them were looking down, with such dif- 
ferent emotions, on a scene which lay like a map be- 
neath their feet, the roar of artillery rose from the valley, 
and passed off in thundering echoes along the eastern 
hills. 

“Morning is just touching them below,” said the delib- 
erate and musing scout, “and the watchers have a mind to 
wake up the sleepers by the sound of cannon. We are a 
few hours too late! Montcalm has already filled the woods 
with his accursed Iroquois.” 

“The place is, indeed, invested,” returned Duncan, “but 
is there no expedient by which we may enter? Capture in 
the works would be far preferable to falling again into 
the hands of roving Indians.” 

“See!” exclaimed the scout, unconsciously directing the 
attention of Cora to the quarters of her own father, “how 
that shot has made the stones fly from the side of the com- 
mandant’s house! Ay! these Frenchers will pull it to 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 179 

pieces faster than it was put together, solid and thick 
though it be.” 

“Heyward, I sicken at the sight of danger that I cannot 
share,” said the undaunted but anxious daughter. “Let us 
go to Montcalm and demand admission: he dare not deny 
a child the boon.” 

“You would scarce find the tent of the Frenchman with 
the hair on your head,” said the blunt scout. “If I had 
but one of the thousand boats which lie empty along that 
shore, it might be done. Ha! here will soon be an end of 
the firing, for yonder comes a fog that will turn day to 
night, and make an Indian arrow more dangerous than a 
moulded cannon. Now, if you are equal to the work, and 
will follow, I will make a push; for I long to get down 
into that camp, if it be only to scatter some Mingo dogs that 
I see lurking in the skirts of yonder thicket of birch.” 

“We are equal,” said Cora, firmly; “on such an errand 
we will follow to any danger.” 

The scout turned to her with a smile of honest and cor- 
dial approbation as he answered, — 

“I would I had a thousand men, of brawny limbs and 
quick eyes, that feared death as little as you! I’d send 
them jabbering Frenchers back into their den again afore 
the week was ended, howling like so many fettered hounds 
or hungry wolves. But stir,” he added, turning from her 
to the rest of the party, “the fog comes rolling down so 
fast we shall have but just the time to meet it on the plain 
and use it as a cover. Remember, if any accident should 
befall me, to keep the air blowing on your left cheeks — or 
rather, follow the Mohicans; they’d scent their way, be it 
in day or be it at night.” 

He then waved his hand for them to follow, and threw 
himself down the steep declivity, with free but careful 
footsteps. Heyward assisted the sisters to descend, and in 
a few minutes they were all far down a mountain whose 
sides they had climbed with so much toil and pain. 

The direction taken by Hawkeye soon brought the trav- 
ellers to the level of the plain, nearly opposite to a sally- 
port in the western curtain of the fort, which lay, itself, 


180 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


at the distance of about half a mile from the point where 
he halted to allow Duncan to come up with his charge. 
In their eagerness, and favored by the nature of the 
ground, they had anticipated the fog which was rolling 
heavily down the lake, and it became necessary to pause 
until the mists had wrapped the camp of the enemy in 
their fleecy mantle. The Mohicans profited by the delay 
to steal out of the woods and to make a survey of sur- 
rounding objects. They were followed at a little distance 
by the scout, with a view to profit early by their report, 
and to obtain some faint knowledge for himself of the 
more immediate localities. 

In a very few moments he returned, his face reddened 
with vexation, while he muttered his disappointment in 
words of no very gentle import. 

“Here has the cunning Frenchman been posting a picket 
directly in our path,” he said; “redskins and whites; and 
we shall be as likely to fall into their midst as to pass 
them in the fog!” 

“Cannot we make a circuit to avoid the danger,” asked 
Heyward, “and come into our path again when it is passed?” 

“Who that once bends from the line of his march in a 
fog can tell when or how to turn to And it again! The 
mists of Horican are not like the curls from a peace-pipe, 
or the smoke which settles above a mosquito Are.” 

He was yet speaking when a crashing sound was heard 
and a cannon-ball entered the thicket, striking the body of 
a sapling and rebounding to the earth, its force being much 
expended by previous resistance. The Indians followed 
instantly, like busy attendants on the terrible messenger, 
and Uncas commenced speaking earnestly and with much 
action, in the Delaware tongue. 

“It may be so, lad,” muttered the scout, when he had 
ended; “for desperate fevers are not to be treated like a 
toothache. Come, then, the fog is shutting in.” 

“Stop!” cried Heyward; “first explain your expectations.” 

“’Tis soon done, and a small hope it is; but it is better 
than nothing. This shot that you see,” added the scout, 
kicking the harmless iron with his foot, “has ploughed th§ 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


181 


'arth in its road from the fort, and we shall hunt for the 
furrow it has made when all other signs may fail. No 
more words, but follow, or the fog may leave us in the mid- 
dle of our path, a mark for both armies to shoot at.” 

Heyward perceiving that, in fact, a crisis had arrived 
when acts were more required than words, placed himself 
between the sisters, and drew them swiftly forward, keep- 
ing the dim figure of their leader in his eye. It was soon 
apparent that Hawkeye had not magnified the power of 
the fog, for before they had proceeded twenty yards it was 
difficult for the different individuals of the party to dis- 
tinguish each other in the vapor. 

They had made their little circuit to the left, and were 
already inclining again toward the right, having, as Hey- 
ward thought, got over nearly half the distance to the 
friendly works, when his ears were saluted with the fierce 
summons, apparently within twenty feet of them, of — 

“Qui va 

“Push on!” whispered the scout, once more bending to 
the left. 

“Push on!” repeated Heyward; when the summons was 
renewed by a dozen voices, each of which seemed charged 
with menace. 

“C’est moi,”^ cried Duncan, dragging rather than lead- 
ing those he supported, swiftly onward. 

“Bete ! — qui ? — moi ! ” 

“Ami de la France.” 

“Tu m’as plus Pair d’un ennemi de la France; arrete! 
ou pardieu je te ferai ami du diable. Non! feu, camarades, 
feu!” 

The order was instantly obeyed, and the fog v/as stirred 
by the explosion of fifty muskets. Happily, the aim was 
bad, and the bullets cut the air in a direction a little dif- 
ferent from that taken by the fugitives; though still so 

1 “Who goes there?” 

a .. ’Tig 

“Blockhead !— Who ?— ‘I’ ! ” 

“Friend of France.” 

“You look to me more like an enemy of France. Stop! or by Jove I 
will make you a friend of the devil! No! Fire, comrades, fire!” 


182 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


nigh them, that to the unpracticed ears of David and the 
two females it appeared as if they whistled within a few 
inches of the organs. The outcry was renewed, and the 
order, not only to fire again, but to pursue, was too plainly 
audible. When Heyward briefiy explained the meaning of 
the words they heard, Hawkeye halted, and spoke with 
quick decision and great firmness. 

“Let us deliver our fire,” he said; “they will believe it a 
sortie, and give way, or they will wait for reinforcements.” 

The scheme was well conceived, but failed in its effect. 
The instant the French heard the pieces, it seemed as if 
the plain was alive with men, muskets rattling along its 
whole extent, from the shores of the lake to the furthest 
boundary of the woods. 

“We shall draw their entire army upon us, and bring on 
a general assault,” said Duncan; “lead on, my friend, for 
your own life and ours.” 

The scout seemed willing to comply; but, in the hurry 
of the moment, and in the change of position, he had lost 
the direction. In vain he turned either cheek toward the 
light air; they felt equally cool. In this dilemma, Uncas 
lighted on the furrow of the cannon-ball, where it had 
cut the ground in three adjacent ant-hills.^ 

“Give me the range!” said Hawkeye, bending to catch 
a glimpse of the direction, and then instantly moving on- 
ward. 

Cries, oaths, voices calling to each other, and the re- 
ports of muskets, were now quick and incessant, and, ap- 
parently, on every side of them. Suddenly, a strong glare 
of light fiashed across the scene, the fog rolled upward 
in thick wreaths, and several cannon belched across the 
plain, and the roar was thrown heavily back from the bel- 
lowing echoes of the mountain. 

“’Tis from the fort!” exclaimed Hawkeye, turning short 
on his tracks; “and we, like stricken fools, were rushing 
to the woods, under the very knives of the Maquas.” 

The instant their mistake was rectified, the whole party 

1 Cannonballs are very easily deflected, and this story of three “adja- 
cent ant-hills” is usually discredited, since it is taken as meaning that 
a straight line was plowed through three hills. 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


183 


retraced the error with the utmost diligence. Duncan will- 
ingly relinquished the support of Cora to the arm of Un- 
cas, and Cora as readily accepted the welcome assistance. 
Men hot and angry in pursuit, were evidently on their 
footsteps, and each instant threatened their capture, if 
not their destruction. 

“Point de quartier aux coquins !”^ cried an eager pur- 
suer, who seemed to direct the operations of the enemy. 

“Stand firm, and be ready, my gallant 60ths!” suddenly 
exclaimed a voice above them; “wait to see the enemy — 
fire low, and sweep the glacis.” 

“Father! father!” exclaimed a piercing cry from out 
the mist; “it is I! Alice! thy own Elsie! spare, oh! save 
your daughters!” 

“Hold!” shouted the former speaker, in the awful tones 
of parental agony, the sound reaching even to the woods, 
and rolling back in solemn echo. “Tis she! God has 
restored me my children! Throw open the sally-port; to 
the field, 60ths, to the field; pull not a trigger, lest ye kill 
my lambs! Drive off these dogs of France with your 
steel!” 

Duncan heard the grating of the rusty hinges, and dart- 
ing to the spot, directed by the sound, he met a long line 
of dark-red warriors passing swiftly towards the glacis. 
He knew them for his own battalion of the Royal Ameri- 
cans, and, flying to their head, soon swept every trace of 
his pursuers from before the works. 

For an instant, Cora and Alice had stood trembling and 
bewildered by this unexpected desertion; but before either 
had leisure for speech or even thought, an oflicer of gi- 
gantic frame, whose locks were bleached with years and 
service, but whose air of military grandeur had been rather 
softened than destroyed by time, rushed out of the body of 
the mist, and folded them to his bosom, while large scald- 
ing tears rolled down his pale and wrinkled cheeks, and he 
exclaimed, in the peculiar accent of Scotland, — 

“For this I thank thee. Lord! Let danger come as it 
will, thy servant is now prepared!” 

1 No quarter to the scoundrels! 


184 THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


CHAPTER XV 

Then go we In to know his embassy; 

Which I could with a ready guess declare 

Before the Frenchman speak a word of It. 

—King Henry V. 

A few succeeding days were passed amid the privations, 
the uproar, and the dangers of the siege, which was vigor- 
ously pressed hy a power against whose approaches Munro 
possessed no competent means of resistance. It appeared 
as if Webb, with his army, which lay slumbering on the 
banks of the Hudson, had utterly forgotten the strait to 
which his countrymen were reduced. Montcalm had filled 
the woods of the portage with his savages, every yell and 
whoop from whom rang through the British encampment, 
chilling the hearts of men who were already but too much 
disposed to magnify the danger. 

Not so, however, with the besieged. Animated by the 
words and stimulated by the examples of their leaders, 
they had found their courage, and maintained their ancient 
reputation with zeal that did justice to the stern character 
of their commander. As if satisfied with the toil of march- 
ing through the wilderness to encounter his enemy, the 
French general, though of approved skill, had neglected to 
seize the adjacent mountains, whence the besieged might 
have been exterminated with impunity, and which, in the 
more modern warfare of the country, would not have been 
neglected for a single hour. This sort of contempt for 
eminences, or rather dread of the labor of ascending 
them, might have been termed the besetting weakness of 
the warfare of the period. It originated in the simplicity 
of the Indian contests, in which, from the nature of the 
combats and the density of the forests, fortresses were 
rare and artillery next to useless. The carelessness engen- 
dered by these usages descended even to the war of the 
Revolution, and lost the States the important fortress of 
Ticonderoga, opening a way for the army of Burgoyne 
into what was then the bosom of the country. We look 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


185 


back at this ignorance, or infatuation, whichever it may be 
called, with wonder, knowing that the neglect of an emi- 
nence whose difficulties, like those of Mount Defiance,^ 
have been so greatly exaggerated, would at the present 
time prove fatal to the reputation of the engineer who had 
planned the works at their base, or to that of the general 
whose lot it was to defend them. 

The tourist, the valetudinarian, or the amateur of the 
beauties of nature, who, in the train of his four-in-hand, 
now rolls through the scenes we have attempted to describe, 
in quest of information, health, or pleasure, or floats stead- 
ily toward his object on those artificial waters which have 
sprung up under the administration of a statesman^ who 
has dared to stake his political character on the hazardous 
issue, is not to suppose that his ancestors traversed those 
hills or struggled with the same currents with equal fa- 
cility. The transportation of a single heavy gun was often 
considered equal to a victory gained; if, happily, the diffi- 
culties of the passage had not so far separated it from 
its necessary concomitant, the ammunition, as to render 
it no more than a useless tube of unwieldy iron. 

The evils of this state of things pressed heavily on the 
fortunes of the resolute Scotsman who now defended Will- 
iam Henry. Though his adversary neglected the hills, he 
had planted his batteries with judgment on the plain, and 
caused them to be served with vigor and skill. Against 
this assault, the besieged could only oppose the imper- 
fect and hasty preparations of a fortress in the wilderness. 

It was in the afternoon of the fifth day of the siege, and 
the fourth of his own service in it, that Major Heyward 
profited by a parley® that had just been beaten, by repair- 
ing to the ramparts of one of the water bastions to breathe 
the cool air from the lake and to take a survey of the 
progress of the siege. He was alone, if the solitary senti- 
nel who paced the mound be excepted; for the artillerists 

1 A hill overlooking Fort Ticonderoga. 

2 Evidently the late De Witt Clinton, who died governor of New 
York in 1828. [Cooper’s note.] 

® A certain beating of a drum was the signal for a parley or conference 
with the enemy. 


186 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


had hastened also to profit by the temporary suspension of 
their arduous duties. The evening was delightfully calm, 
and the light air from the limpid water fresh and soothing. 
It seemed as if, with the termination to the roar of artil- 
lery and the plunging of shot, nature had also seized the 
moment to assume her mildest and most captivating form. 
The sun poured down his parting glory on the scene, with- 
out the oppression of those fierce rays that belong to the 
climate and the season. The mountains looked green, 
and fresh, and lovely; tempered with the milder light, or 
softened in shadow, as thin vapors fioated between them 
and the sun. The numerous islands rested on the bosom 
of the Horican, some low and sunken as if Imbedded in the 
waters, and others appearing to hover above the element 
in little hillocks of green velvet; among which the fisher- 
men of the beleaguering army peacefully rowed their skiffs, 
or floated at rest on the glassy mirror in quiet pursuit of 
their employment. 

The scene was at once animated and still. All that per- 
tained to nature was sweet, or simply grand; while those 
parts which depended on the temper and movements of 
man were lively and playful. 

Two little spotless flags were abroad, the one on a salient 
angle of the fort, and th^ other on the advanced battery of 
the besiegers; emblems of the truce which existed not 
only to the acts, but it would seem, also, to the enmity of 
the combatants. 

Behind these, again, swung, heavily opening and closing 
in silken folds, the rival standards of England and France. 

A hundred gay and thoughtless young Frenchmen were 
drawing a net to the pebbly beach, within dangerous prox- 
imity to the sullen but silent cannon of the fort, while the 
eastern mountain was sending back the loud shouts and 
gay merriment that attended their sport. Some were rush- 
ing eagerly to enjoy the aquatic games of the lake, and 
others were already toiling their way up the neighboring 
hills, with the restless curiosity of their nation. To all 
these sports and pursuits, those of the enemy who watched 
the besieged, and the besieged themselves, were, however, 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


187 


merely the idle though sympathizing spectators. Here and 
there a picket had, indeed, raised a song or mingled in a 
dance which had drawn the dusky savages around them, 
from their lairs in the forest. In short, everything wore 
rather the appearance of a day of pleasure than of an 
hour stolen from the dangers and toil of a bloody and 
vindictive warfare. 

Duncan had stood in musing attitude, contemplating this 
scene a few minutes, when his eyes were directed to the 
glacis in front of the sally-port already mentioned, by the 
sounds of approaching footsteps. He walked to an angle 
of the bastion, and beheld the scout advancing, under the 
custody of a French officer, to the body of the fort. The 
countenance of Hawkeye was haggard and careworn, and 
his air dejected, as though he felt the deepest degrada- 
tion at having fallen into the power of his enemies. He 
was without his favorite weapon, and his arms were even 
bound behind him with thongs, made of the skin of a 
deer. The arrival of flags, to cover the messengers of sum- 
mons, had occurred so often of late that when Heyward 
first threw his careless glance on this group he expected 
to see another of the officers of the enemy, charged with 
a similar office; but the instant he recognized the tall 
person and still sturdy, though downcast, features of his 
friend the woodsman, he started with surprise and turned 
to descend from the bastion into the bosom of the work. 

The sounds of other voices, however, caught his atten- 
tion, and for a moment caused him to forget his purpose. 
At the inner angle of the mound he met the sisters, walk- 
ing along the parapet, in search, like himself, of air and 
relief from confinement. They had not met from that pain- 
ful moment when he deserted them on the plain, only to 
assure their safety. He had parted from them worn 
with care and jaded with fatigue; he now saw them re- 
freshed and blooming, though timid and anxious. Under 
such an inducement, it will cause no surprise that the 
young man lost sight, for a time, of other objects in order 
to address them. He was, however, anticipated by the 
voice of the ingenuous and youthful Alice. 


188 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


“Ah! thou truant! thou recreant knight! he who aban- 
dons his damsels in the very lists!” she cried; “here have 
we been days, nay, ages, expecting you at our feet, implor- 
ing mercy and forgetfulness of your craven backsliding, 
or, I should rather say, back-running — for verily you fled 
in a manner that no stricken deer, as our worthy friend 
the scout would say, could equal!” 

“You know that Alice means our thanks and our bless- 
ings,” added the graver and more thoughtful Cora. “In 
truth, we have a little wondered why you should so rig- 
idly absent yourself from a place where the gratitude of 
the daughters might receive the support of a parents 
thanks.” 

“Your father himself could tell you that, though absent 
from your presence, I have not been altogether forgetful 
of your safety,” returned the young man; “the mastery of 
yonder village of huts,” pointing to the neighboring en- 
trenched camp, “has been keenly disputed; and he who 
holds it is sure to be possessed of this fort and that which 
it contains. My days and my nights have all been passed 
there since we separated, because I thought that duty 
called me thither. But,” he added with an air of chagrin, 
which he endeavored, though unsuccessfully, to conceal, 
“had I been aware that what I then believed a soldier’s 
conduct could so be construed, shame would have been 
added to the list of reasons.” 

“Heyward! — Duncan!” exclaimed Alice, bending for- 
ward to read his half-averted countenance until a lock of 
her golden hair rested on her flushed cheek, and nearly 
concealed the tear that had started to her eye; “did I think 
this idle tongue of mine had pained you I would silence it 
forever. Cora can say, if Cora would, how justly we have 
prized your services, and how deep — I had almost said how 
fervent — is our gratitude.” 

“And will Cora attest the truth of this?” cried Duncan, 
suffering the cloud to be chased from his countenance by a 
smile of open pleasure. “What says our graver sister? 
Will she And an excuse for the neglect of the knight in 
the duty of a soldier?” 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


189 


Cora made no immediate answer, but turned her face 
toward the water as if looking on the sheet of the Hori- 
can. When she did bend her dark eyes on the young man, 
they were yet filled with an expression of anguish that at 
once drove every thought but that of kind solicitude from 
his mind. 

“You are not well, dearest Miss Munro!” he exclaimed; 
“we have trifled while you are in suffering.” 

“’Tis nothing,” she answered, refusing his offered sup- 
port with feminine reserve. “That I cannot see the sunny 
side of the picture of life like this artless but ardent en- 
thusiast,” she added, laying her hand lightly, but affec- 
tionately, on the arm of her sister, “is the penalty of ex- 
perience, and, perhaps, the misfortune of my nature. See,” 
she continued, as if determined to shake off infirmity in a 
sense of duty; “look around you. Major Heyward, and tell 
me what a prospect is this for the daughter of a soldier 
whose greatest happiness is his honor and his military 
renown.” 

“Neither ought nor shall be tarnished by circumstances 
over which he has had no control,” Duncan warmly replied. 
“But your words recall me to my own duty. I go now to 
your gallant father, to hear his determination in matters 
of the last moment to the defense. God bless you in every 
fortune, noble — Cora — I may and must call you.” She 
frankly gave him her hand, though her lip quivered, and 
her cheeks gradually became of an ashy paleness. “In 
every fortune, I know you will be an ornament and honor 
to your sex. Alice, adieu” — his tone changed from admi- 
ration to tenderness — “adieu, Alice; we shall soon meet 
again; as conquerors, I trust, and amid rejoicings!” 

Without waiting for an answer from either, the young 
man threw himself down the grassy steps of the bastion, 
and moving rapidly across the parade, he was quickly in 
the presence of their father. Munro was pacing his nar- 
row apartment with a disturbed air and gigantic strides 
as Duncan entered. 

“You have anticipated my wishes, Major Heyward,” he 
said; “I was about to request this favor,” 


190 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


“I am sorry to see, sir, that the messenger I so warmly 
recommended has returned in custody of the French! I 
hope there is no reason to distrust his fidelity?” 

“The fidelity of ‘The Long Rifle’ is well known to me,” 
returned Munro, “and is above suspicion; though his usual 
good fortune seems, at last, to have failed. Montcalm 
has got him, and with the accursed politeness of his na- 
tion, he has sent him in with a doleful tale of ‘knowing 
how I valued the fellow, he could not think of retaining 
him.’ A Jesuitical way, that. Major Duncan Heyward, of 
telling a man of his misfortunes!” 

“But the general and his succor?” 

“Did ye look to the south as ye entered, and could ye 
not see them?” said the old soldier, laughing bitterly. 
“Hoot! hoot! you’re an impatient boy, sir, and cannot 
give the gentlemen leisure for their march!” 

“They are coming, then? The scout has said as much?” 

“When? and by what path? for the dunce has omitted 
to tell me this. There is a letter, it would seem, too; and 
that is the only agreeable part of the matter. For the 
customary attentions of your Marquis of Montcalm — I war- 
rant me, Duncan, that he of Lothian would buy a dozen 
such marquisates — but, if the news of the letter were bad, 
the gentility of this French monsieur would certainly com- 
pel him to let us know it.” 

“He keeps the letter, then, while he releases the mes- 
senger!” 

“Ay, that does he, and all for the sake of what you call 
your ‘bonhommie.’ I would venture, if the truth was 
known, the fellow’s grandfather taught the noble science of 
dancing.” 

“But what says the scout? he has eyes and ears and a 
tongue; what verbal report does he make?” 

“0! sir, he is not wanting in natural organs, and he is 
free to tell all that he has seen and heard. The whole 
amount is this: there is a fort of his majesty’s on the banks 
of the Hudson, called Edward, in honor of his gracious 
highness of York, you’ll know; and it is well filled with 
armed men, as such a work should be,” 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 191 

“But was there no movement, no signs of any intention 
to advance to our relief?” 

“There were the morning and evening parades; and 
when one of the provincial loons — you’ll know, Duncan, 
you’re half a Scotsman yourself — when one of them 
dropped his powder over his porretch,Mf it touched the coals, 
it just, burned!” Then suddenly changing his bitter, iron- 
ical manner to one more grave and thoughtful, he con- 
tinued; “and yet there might, and must, be something in 
that letter which it would be well to know!” 

“Our decision should be speedy,” said Duncan, gladly 
availing himself of this change of humor to press the more 
important objects of their interview; “I cannot conceal 
from you, sir, that the camp will not be much longer tena- 
ble; and I am sorry to add that things appear no better 
in the fort; more than half the guns are bursted.” 

“And how should it be otherwise? Some were fished 
from the bottom of the lake; some have been rusting 
in the woods since the discovery of the country; and some 
were never guns at all — mere privateersmen’s playthings! 
Do you think, sir, you can have Woolwich Warren^ in the 
midst of a wilderness, three thousand miles from Great 
Britain!” 

“The walls are crumbling about our ears, and provisions 
begin to fail us,” continued Heyward, without regarding 
this new burst of indignation; “even the men shows signs 
of discontent and alarm.” 

“Major Heyward,” said Munro, turning to his youthful 
associate with the dignity of his years and superior rank; 
“I should have served his majesty for half a century, and 
earned these gray hairs, in vain, were I ignorant of all you 
say, and of the pressing nature of our circumstances; still, 
there is everything due to the honor of the king’s arms 
and something to ourselves. While there is hope of succor, 
this fortress will I defend, though it be to be done with 

1 Spilt his gunpowder as he bent over the porridge. 

2 The Royal Arsenal is at Woolwich. Carlyle advises to do no in- 
justice, “though thou hadst all the artillery of Woolwich thundering 
at thy back in support of an unjust thing,” 


192 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


pebbles gathered on the lake shore. It is a sight of the 
letter, therefore, that we want, that we may know the in- 
tentions of the man the Earl of Loudon has left among 
us as his substitute.” 

“And can I be of service in the matter?” 

“Sir, you can; the Marquis of Montcalm has, in addition 
to his other civilities, invited me to a personal interview 
between the works and his own camp; in order, as he says, 
to impart some additional information. Now I think it 
would not be wise to show any undue solicitude to meet 
him, and I would employ you, an officer of rank, as my 
substitute; for it would but ill comport with the honor of 
Scotland to let it be said one of her gentlemen was out- 
done in civility by a native of any other country on earth.” 

Without assuming the supererogatory task of entering 
into a discussion of the comparative merits of national cour- 
tesy, Duncan cheerfully assented to supply the place of the 
veteran in the approaching interview. A long and confi- 
dential communication now succeeded, during which the 
young man received some additional insight into his duty 
from the experience and native acuteness of his com- 
mander, and then the former took his leave. 

As Duncan could only act as the representative of the 
commandant of the fort, the ceremonies which should have 
accompanied a meeting between the heads of the adverse 
forces were of course dispensed with. The truce still 
existed, and with a roll and beat of the drum, and covered 
by a little white flag, Duncan left the sally-port within ten 
minutes after his instructions were ended. He was received 
by the French officer in advance with the usual formalities, 
and immediately accompanied to a distant marquee of the 
renowned soldier who led the forces of France. 

The general of the enemy received the youthful messen- 
ger, surrounded by his principal officers, and by a swarthy 
band of the native chiefs, who had followed him to the 
field, with the warriors of their several tribes. Heyward 
paused short, when, in glancing his eyes rapidly over the 
dark group of the latter, he beheld the malignant counte- 
nance of Magua, regarding him with the calm but sullen 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


193 


attention which marked the expression of that subtle sav- 
age. A slight exclamation of surprise even burst from the 
lips of the young man; but instantly recollecting his errand, 
and the presence in which he stood, he suppressed every 
appearance of emotion, and turned to the hostile leader, 
who had already advanced a step to receive him. 

The Marquis of Montcalm was, at the period of which 
we write, in the flower of his age, and, it may be added, in 
the zenith of his fortunes. But, even in that enviable situ- 
ation, he was affable, and distinguished as much for his 
attention to the forms of courtesy as for that chivalrous 
courage which, only two short years afterwards, induced 
him to throw away his life on the plains of Abraham. 
Duncan, in turning his eyes from the malign expression 
of Magua, suffered them to rest with pleasure on the smil- 
ing and polished features and the noble military air of 
the French general. 

“Monsieur,”^ said the latter, “j’ai beaucoup de plaisir 
a — bah! ou est cet interpr§te?” 

“Je crois, monsieur, qu’il ne sera pas n^cessaire,” Hey- 
ward modestly replied; “je parle un peu Frangais.” 

“Ah! j’en suis bien aise,” said Montcalm, taking Duncan 
familiarly by the arm, and leading him deep into the mar- 
quee, a little out of ear-shot; “je d6teste ces fripons-li; 
on ne salt jamais sur quel pied on est avec eux. Eh bien! 
monsieur,” he continued, still speaking in French; “though 
I should have been proud of receiving your commandant, 
I am very happy that he has seen proper to employ an 
officer so distinguished, and who, I am sure, is so amiable, 
as yourself.” 

Duncan bowed low, pleased with the compliment, in spite 
of a most heroic determination to suffer no artiflce to 
allure him into forgetfulness of the interest of his prince; 
and Montcalm, after a pause of a moment, as if to recol- 
lect his thoughts, proceeded, — 

“Your commandant is a brave man, and well qualified to 

1 “Sir, I am greatly pleased to— pshaw, where Is that interpreter?” — 
“I think, sir, that he will not be necessary; I speak French a little.”— 
“Ah! I am glad of that; I hate those rogues; we never know on what 
terms we are with them. Well, sir.” 

13 


194 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


repel my assault. Mais, monsieur;^ is it not time to begin 
to take more counsel of humanity, and less of your courage? 
The one as strongly characterizes the hero as the other.” 

“We consider the qualities as inseparable,” returned 
Duncan, smiling; “but while we find in the vigor of your 
excellency every motive to stimulate the one, we can, as 
yet, see no particular call for the exercise of the other.” 

Montcalm, in his turn, slightly bowed, but it was with 
the air of a man too practiced to remember the language 
of fiattery. After musing a moment, he added, — 

“It is possible my glasses have deceived me, and that 
your works resist our cannon better than I had supposed. 
You know our force?” 

“Our accounts vary,” said Duncan, carelessly; “the high- 
est, however, has not exceeded twenty thousand men.” 

The Frenchman bit his lip, and fastened his eyes keenly 
on the other as if to read his thoughts; then, with a readi- 
ness peculiar to himself, he continued, as if assenting to 
the truth of an enumeration which quite doubled his 
army, — 

“It is a poor compliment to the vigilance of us soldiers, 
monsieur, that, do what we will, we never can conceal our 
numbers. If it were to be done at all, one would believe it 
might succeed in these woods. Though you think it too 
soon to listen to the calls of humanity,” he added, smiling 
archly, “I may be permitted to believe that gallantry is 
not forgotten by one so young as yourself. The daughters 
of the commandant, I learn, have passed into the fort since 
it was invested?” 

“It is true, monsieur; but, so far from weakening our 
efforts, they set us an example of courage in their own for- 
titude. Were nothing but resolution necessary to repel 
so accomplished a soldier as M.* de Montcalm, I would 
gladly trust the defense of William Henry to the elder 
of those ladies.” 

“We have a wise ordinance in our Salique laws, which 
says, ‘The crown of France shall never degrade the lance 

1 “But, sir.” 

3 Monsieur. 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


195 


to the distaff,’ ” said Montcalm, dryly, "and with a little 
hauteur; but instantly adding, with his former frank and 
easy air, “as all the nobler qualities are hereditary, I can 
easily credit you; though, as I said before, courage has its 
limits, and humanity must not be forgotten. I trust, mon- 
sieur, you come authorized to treat for the surrender of 
the place?” 

“Has your excellency found our defense so feeble as to 
believe the measure necessary?” 

“I should be sorry to have the defense protracted in 
such a manner as to irritate my red friends there,” con- 
tinued Montcalm, glancing his eyes at the group of grave 
and attentive Indians, without attending to the other’s 
question; “I find it difiicult, even now, to limit them to the 
usages of war.” 

Heyward was silent; for a painful recollection of the dan- 
gers he had so recently escaped came over his mind, and 
recalled the images of those defenseless beings who had 
shared in all his sufferings. 

“Ces messieurs-ia,”^ said Montcalm, following up the 
advantage which he conceived he had gained, “are most 
formidable when baffled: and it is unnecessary to tell you 
with what difficulty they are restrained in their anger. Eh 
bien, monsieur!^ shall we speak of the terms?” 

“I fear your excellency has been deceived as to the 
strength of William Henry, and the resources of its gar- 
rison!” 

“I have not sat down before Quebec, but an earthen 
work that is defended by twenty-three hundred gallant 
men,” was the laconic reply. 

“Our mounds are earthen, certainly — nor are they seated 
on the rocks of Cape Diamond; but they stand on that 
shore which proved so destructive to Dieskau and his army. 
There is also a powerful force within a few hours’ march of 
us, which we account upon as part of our means.” 

“Some six or eight thousand men,” returned Montcalm, 
with much apparent indifference, “whom their leader 

1 “Those gentlemen.” 

2 “'Well, sir!” 


196 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


wisely Judges to be safer in their works than in the field.” 

It was now Heyward’s turn to bite his lip with vexation, 
as the other so coolly alluded to a force which the young 
man knew to be overrated. Both mused a little while in 
silence, when Montcalm renewed the conversation in a 
way that showed he believed the visit of his guest was 
solely to propose terms of capitulation. On the other hand, 
Heyward began to throw sundry inducements in the way 
of the French general, to betray the discoveries he had 
made through the intercepted letter. The artifice of 
neither, however, succeeded; and after a protracted and 
fruitless interview, Duncan took his leave, favorably im- 
pressed with an opinion of the courtesy and talents of the 
enemy’s captain, but as ignorant of what he came to learn 
as when he arrived. Montcalm followed him as far as 
the entrance of the marquee, renewing his invitations to 
the commandant of the fort to give him an immediate 
meeting in the open ground, between the two armies. 

There they separated, and Duncan returned to the ad- 
vanced post of the French, accompanied as before; whence 
be instantly proceeded to the fort, and to the quarters of 
his own commander. 


CHAPTER XVI 

Edg. Before you fight the battle, ope this letter. 

—Lear. 

Major Heyward found Munro attended only by his 
daughters. Alice sat upon his knee, parting the gray hairs 
on the forehead of the old man with her delicate fingers, 
and, whenever he affected to frown on her trifling, appeas- 
ing his assumed anger by pressing her ruby lips fondly on 
his wrinkled brow. Cora was seated nigh them, a calm and 
amused looker-on, regarding the wayward movements of 
her more youthful sister with that species of maternal 
fondness which characterized her love for Alice. Not only 
the dangers through which they had passed, but those 
which still impended above them, appeared to be momen- 
tarily forgotten in the soothing indulgence of such a fam- 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


197 


ily meeting. It seemed as if they had profited by the short 
truce to devote an instant to the purest and best affections, 
the daughters forgetting their fears, and the veteran his 
cares, in the security of the moment. Of this scene, Dun- 
can, who, in his eagerness to report his arrival, had en- 
tered unannounced, stood many moments an unobserved 
and a delighted spectator. But the quick and dancing eyes 
of Alice soon caught a glimpse of his figure reflected from 
a glass, and she sprang blushing from her father’s knee, 
exclaiming aloud, — 

“Major Heyward!” 

“What of the lad?” demanded the father; “I have sent 
him to crack a little with the Frenchman. Ha! sir, you 
are young, and you’re nimble! Away with you, ye bag- 
gage; as if there were not troubles enough for a soldier 
without having his camp filled with such prattling hussies 
as yourself!” 

Alice laughingly followed her sister, who instantly led 
the way from an apartment where she perceived their 
presence was no longer desirable. Munro, instead of de- 
manding the result of the young man’s mission, paced the 
room for a few moments, with his hands behind his back 
and his head inclined toward the floor, like a man lost 
in thought. At length he raised his eyes, glistening with 
a father’s fondness, and exclaimed, — 

“They are a pair of excellent girls, Heyward, and such 
as any one may boast of.” 

“You are not now to learn my opinion of your daugh- 
ters, Colonel Munro.” 

“True, lad, true,” interrupted the impatient old man; 
“you were about opening your mind more fully on that 
matter the day you got in; but I did not think it becoming 
in an old soldier to be talking of nuptial blessings and wed- 
ding jokes when the enemies of his king were likely to be 
unbidden guests at the feast! But I was wrong, Duncan, 
boy, I was wrong there; and I am now ready to hear what 
you have to say.” 

“Notwithstanding the pleasure your assurance gives me, 
dear sir, I have just now a message from Montcalm — ” 


198 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


“Let the Frenchman and all his host go to the devil, 
sir!” exclaimed the hasty veteran. “He is not yet master 
of William Henry, nor shall he ever be, provided Webb 
proves himself the man he should. No, sir! thank Heaven, 
we are not yet in such a strait that it can be said Munro is 
too much pressed to discharge the little domestic duties of 
his own family. Your mother was the only child of my 
bosom friend, Duncan; and ITl just give you a hearing, 
though all the knights of St. Louis^ were in a body at the 
sally-port, with the French saint at their head, craving to 
speak a word under favor. A pretty degree of knighthood, 
sir, is that which can be bought with sugar-hogsheads! and 
then your two-penny marquisates! The thistle is the or- 
der for dignity and antiquity; the veritable ‘nemo me im- 
pune lacessit’^ of chivalry! Ye had ancestors in that degree, 
Duncan, and they were an ornament to the nobles of Scot- 
land.” 

Heyward, who perceived that his superior took a mali- 
cious pleasure in exhibiting his contempt for the message 
of the French general, was fain to humor a spleen that he 
knew would be short-lived; he therefore replied with as 
much indifference as he could assume on such a subject, — 

“My request, as you know, sir, went so far as to presume 
to the honor of being your son.” 

“Ay, boy, you found words to make yourself very plainly 
comprehended. But, let me ask ye, sir, have you been as 
intelligible to the girl?” 

“On my honor, no,” exclaimed Duncan, warmly; “there 
would have been an abuse of a confided trust had I taken 
advantage of my situation for such a purpose.” 

“Your notions are those of a gentleman, Major Hey- 
ward, and well enough in their place. But Cora Munro is 
a maiden too discreet, and of a mind too elevated and im- 
proved, to need the guardianship even of a father.” 

“Cora!” 

“Ay—Cora! we are talking of your pretensions to Miss 
Munro, are we not, sir?” 

> An order established by Louis XIV, and named after Louis IX, (St. 
Louis). 

* This, the motto of Scotland, means “No one wounds me with impunity.” 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 199 

“I — I — I was not conscious of having mentioned her 
name,” said Duncan, stammering. 

“And to marry whom, then, did you wish my consent. 
Major Heyward?” demanded the old soldier, erecting him- 
self in the dignity of offended feeling. 

“You have another, and not less lovely child.” 

“Alice!” exclaimed the father, in an astonishment equal 
to that with which Duncan had just repeated the name of 
her sister. 

“Such was the direction of my wishes, sir.” 

The young man awaited in silence the result of the ex- 
traordinary effect produced by a communication which, as 
it now appeared, was so unexpected. For several minutes 
Munro paced the chamber with long and rapid strides, his 
rigid features working convulsively, and every faculty seem- 
ingly absorbed in the musings of his own mind. At length, 
he paused directly in front of Heyward, and riveting his 
eyes upon those of the other, he said, with a lip that quiv- 
ered violently, — 

“Duncan Heyward, I have loved you for the sake of him 
whose blood is in your veins; I have loved you for your own 
good qualities; and I have loved you because I thought 
you would contribute to the happiness of my child. But 
all this love would turn to hatred, were I assured that what 
I so much apprehend is true.” 

“God forbid that any act or thought of mine should lead 
to such a change!” exclaimed the young man, whose eye 
never quailed under the penetrating look it encountered. 
Without adverting to the impossibility of the other’s com- 
prehending those feelings which were hid in his own bosom, 
Munro suffered himself to be appeased by the unaltered 
countenance he met; and, with a voice sensibly softened, he 
continued, — 

“You would be my son, Duncan, and you’re ignorant of 
the history of the man you wish to call your father. Sit ye 
down, young man, and I will open to you the wounds of 
a seared heart, in as few words as may be suitable.” 

By this time, the message of Montcalm was as much for- 
gotten by him who bore it as by the man for whose ears it 


200 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


was intended. Each drew a chair, and while the veteran 
communed a few moments with his own thoughts, appar- 
ently in sadness, the youth suppressed his impatience in a 
look and attitude of respectful attention. At length the 
former spoke: — 

“You’ll know, already. Major Heyward, that my family 
was both ancient and honorable,” commenced the Scots- 
man; “though it might not altogether be endowed with 
that amount of wealth that should correspond with its 
degree. I was, may be, such an one as yourself when I 
plighted my faith to Alice Graham, the only child of a 
neighboring laird of some estate. But the connection was 
disagreeable to her father, on more accounts than my pov- 
erty. I did therefore what an honest man should — restored 
the maiden her troth, and departed the country in the 
service of my king. I had seen many regions, and had shed 
much blood in different lands, before duty called me to the 
islands of the West Indies. There it was my lot to form a 
connection with one who in time became my wife, and the 
mother of Cora. She was the daughter of a gentleman of 
those isles, by a lady -whose misfortune it was, if you will,” 
said the old man, proudly, “to be descended, remotely, from 
that unfortunate class who are so basely enslaved to 
administer to the wants of a luxurious people. Ay, sir, 
that is a curse entailed on Scotland by her unnatural union 
with a foreign and trading people. But could I find a man 
among them who would dare to refiect on my child, he 
should feel the weight of a father’s anger! Ha! Major 
Heyward, you are yourself born at the south, where these 
unfortunate beings are considered of a race inferior to 
your own.” 

“ ’Tis most unfortunately true, sir,” said Duncan, unable 
any longer to prevent his eyes from sinking to the floor in 
embarrassment. 

“And you cast it on my child as a reproach! You scorn 
to mingle the blood of the Heywards with one so degraded 
— lovely and virtuous though she be?” fiercely demanded 
the jealous parent. 

“Heaven protect me from a prejudice so unworthy of my 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


201 


reason!” returned Duncan, at the same time conscious of 
such a feeling, and that as deeply rooted as if it had been 
ingrafted in his nature. “The sweetness, the beauty, the 
witchery of your younger daughter. Colonel Munro, might 
explain my motives, without imputing to me this injus- 
tice.” 

“Ye are right, sir,” returned the old man, again chang- 
ing his tones to those of gentleness, or rather softness; 
“the girl is the image of what her mother was at her years, 
and before she had become acquainted with grief. When 
death deprived me of my wife I returned to Scotland, en- 
riched by the marriage; and would you think it, Duncan! 
the suffering angel had remained in the heartless state of 
celibacy twenty long years, and that for the sake of a man 
who could forget her! She did more, sir; she overlooked 
my want of faith, and all difficulties being now removed, 
she took me for her husband.” 

“And became the mother of Alice?” exclaimed Duncan, 
with an eagerness that might have proved dangerous at a 
moment when the thoughts of Munro were less occupied 
than at present. 

“She did, indeed,” said the old man, “and dearly did 
she pay for the blessing she bestowed. But she is a saint in 
heaven, sir; and it ill becomes one whose foot rests on the 
grave to mourn a lot so blessed. I had her but a single 
year, though; a short term of happiness for one who had 
seen her youth fade in hopeless pining.” 

There was something so commanding in the distress of 
the old man that Heyward did not dare to venture a sylla- 
ble of consolation. Munro sat utterly unconscious of the 
other’s presence, his features exposed and working with the 
anguish of his regrets, while heavy tears fell from his eyes, 
and rolled unheeded from his cheeks to the floor. At 
length he moved, as if suddenly recovering his recollection; 
when he arose, and, taking a single turn across the room, 
he approached his companion with an air of military 
grandeur, and demanded, — 

“Have you not, Major Heyward, some communication 
that I should hear from the Marquis de Montcalm?” 


202 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


Duncan started, in his turn, and immediately com- 
menced, in an embarrassed voice, the half-forgotten mes- 
sage. It is unnecessary to dwell upon the evasive though 
polite manner with which the French general had eluded 
every attempt of Heyward to worm from him the purport 
of the communication he had proposed making; or on the 
decided though still polished message by which he now 
gave his enemy to understand that unless he chose to 
receive it in person he should not receive it at all. As 
Munro listened to the detail of Duncan the excited feelings 
of the father gradually gave way before the obligations of 
his station; and when the other was done, he saw before 
him nothing but the veteran, swelling with the wounded 
feelings of a soldier. 

“You have said enough. Major Heyward!” exclaimed 
the angry old man: “enough to make a volume of commen- 
tary on French civility. Here has this gentleman invited 
me to a conference, and when I send him a capable substi- 
tute, for ye’re all that, Duncan, though your years are but 
few, he answers me with a riddle.” 

“He may have thought less favorably of the substitute, 
my dear sir; and you will remember that the invitation, 
which he now repeats, was to the commandant of the works 
and not to his second.” 

“Well, sir, is not a substitute clothed with all the power 
and dignity of him who grants the commission? He wishes 
to confer with Munro! Faith, sir, I have much inclination 
to indulge the man, if it should only be to let him behold 
the firm countenance we maintain in spite of his numbers 
and his summons. There might be no bad policy in such a 
stroke, young man.” 

Duncan, who believed it of the last importance that they 
should speedily come at the contents of the letter borne by 
the scout, gladly encouraged this idea. 

“Without doubt, he could gather no confidence by wit- 
nessing our indifference,” he said. 

“You never said truer word. I could wish, sir, that he 
would visit the works in open day, and in the form of a 
storming party: that is the least failing method of proving 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


203 


the countenance of an enemy, and would be far preferable 
to the battering system he has chosen. The beauty and 
manliness of warfare has been much deformed, Major Hey- 
ward, by the arts of your Monsieur Vauban.^ Our ances- 
tors were far above such scientific cowardice!” 

' “It may be very true, sir; but we are now obliged to 
repel art by art. What is your pleasure in the matter of 
the interview?” - 

“I will meet the Frenchman, and that without fear or 
delay; promptly, sir, as becomes a servant of my royal 
master. Go, Major Heyward, and give them a fiourish of 
the music; and send out a messenger to let them know who 
is coming. We will follow with a small guard, for such 
respect is due to one who holds the honor of his king in 
keeping; and harkee, Duncan,” he added, in a half whisper, 
though they were alone, “it may be prudent to have some 
aid at hand, in case there should be treachery at the bottom 
of it all.” 

The young man availed himself of this order to quit the 
apartment; and, as the day was fast coming to a close, he 
hastened, without delay, to make the necessary arrange- 
ments. A very few minutes only were necessary to parade 
a few files, and to despatch an orderly with a fiag to an- 
nounce the approach of the commandant of the fort. When 
Duncan had done both these, he led the guard to the sally- 
port, near which he found his superior ready, waiting his 
appearance. As soon as the usual ceremonials of a military 
departure were observed, the veteran and his more youthful 
companion left the fortress, attended by the escort. 

They had proceeded only a hundred yards from the 
works, when the little array which attended the French 
general to the conference was seen issuing from the hollow 
way which formed the bed of a brook that ran between the 
batteries of the besiegers and the fort. From the moment 
that Munro left his own works to appear in front of his 
enemies, his air had been grand, and his step and counte- 
nance highly military. The instant he caught a glimpse of 
the white plume that waved in the hat of Montcalm, his eye 

1 A distinguished French military engineer. 


204 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICA^JS. 


lighted, and age no longer appeared to possess any influ- 
ence over his vast and still muscular person. 

“Speak to the hoys to he watchful, sir,” he said, in an 
undertone, to Duncan; “and to look well to their flints 
and steel, for one is never safe with a servant of these 
Louis’s; at the same time, we will show them the front 
of men in deep security. Ye’ll understand me. Major 
Heyward!” 

He was interrupted hy the clamor of a drum from the 
approaching Frenchmen, which was immediately answered, 
when each party pushed an orderly in advance, hearing a 
white flag; and the wary Scotsman halted, with his guard 
close at his hack. As soon as this slight salutation had 
passed, Montcalm moved toward them with a quick hut 
graceful step, haring his head to the veteran, and dropping 
his spotless plume nearly to the earth in courtesy. If the 
air of Munro was more commanding and manly, it wanted 
both the ease and insinuating polish of that of the French- 
man. Neither spoke for a few moments, each regarding 
the other with curious and interested eyes. Then, as 
became his superior rank and the nature of the inter- 
view, Montcalm broke the silence. After uttering the 
usual words of greeting, he turned to Duncan, and con- 
tinued, with a smile of recognition, speaking always in 
French, — 

“I am rejoiced, monsieur, that you have given us the 
pleasure of your company on this occasion. There will he 
no necessity to employ an ordinary interpreter; for, in your 
hands, I feel the same security as if I spoke your language 
myself.” 

Duncan acknowledged the compliment, when Mont- 
calm, turning to his guard, which, in imitation of that of 
their enemies, pressed close upon him, continued, — 

“En arridre, mes enfans — il fait chaud; retirez-vous un 
peu.”^ 

Before Major Heyward would imitate this proof of con- 
fidence, he glanced his eyes around the plain, and beheld 
with uneasiness the numerous dusky groups of savages, 

1 “Back, boya— It Is warm; retire a bit.” 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 205 

who looked out from the margin of the surrounding woods, 
curious spectators of the interview. 

“Monsieur de Montcalm will readily acknowledge the 
difference in our situation,” he said, with some embarrass- 
ment, pointing at the same time toward those dangerous 
foes, who were to be seen in almost every direction. 
“Were we to dismiss our guard, we should stand here at 
the mercy of our enemies.” 

“Monsieur, you have the plighted faith of ‘un gentil- 
homme Frangais,’^ for your safety,” returned Montcalm, 
laying his hand impressively on his heart; “it should 
suffice.” 

“It shall. Fall back,” Duncan added to the officer who 
led the escort; “fall back, sir, beyond hearing, and wait 
for orders.” 

Munro witnessed this movement with manifest uneasi- 
ness; nor did he fail to demand an instant explanation. 

“Is it not our interest, sir, to betray no distrust?” re- 
torted Duncan. “Monsieur de Montcalm pledges his word 
for our safety, and I have ordered the men to withdraw a 
little, in order to prove how much we depend on his assur- 
ance.” 

“It may be all right, sir, but I have no overweening 
reliance on the faith of these marquesses, or marquises, as 
they call themselves. Their patents of nobility are too 
common to be certain that they bear the seal of true 
honor.” 

“You forget, dear sir, that we confer with an officer dis- 
tinguished alike in Europe and America for his deeds. 
From a soldier of his reputation we can have nothing to 
apprehend.” 

The old man made a gesture of resignation, though his 
rigid features still betrayed his obstinate adherence to a 
distrust which he derived from a sort of hereditary con- 
tempt of his enemy, rather than from any present signs 
which might warrant so uncharitable a feeling. Montcalm 
waited patiently until this little dialogue in demi-voice was 


1 A French nobleman. 


206 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICAWS. 


ended, when he drew nigher, and opened the subject of 
their conference. 

“I have solicited this interview from your superior, mon- 
sieur,” he said, “because I believe he will allow himself 
to be persuaded that he has already done everything which 
is necessary for the honor of his prince, and will now listen 
to the admonitions of humanity. I will forever bear testi- 
mony that his resistance has been gallant, and was con- 
tinued as long as there was hope.” 

When this opening was translated to Munro, he answered 
with dignity, but with sufficient courtesy, — 

“However I may prize such testimony from Monsieur 
Montcalm, it will be more valuable when it shall be better 
merited.” 

The French general smiled, as Duncan gave him the 
purport of this reply, and observed, — 

“What is now so freely accorded to approved courage, 
may be refused to useless obstinacy. Monsieur would wish 
to see my camp, and witness, for himself, our numbers, 
and the impossibility of his resisting them, with suc- 
cess?” 

“I know that the king of France is well served,” re- 
turned the unmoved Scotsman, as soon as Duncan ended 
his translation; “but my own royal master has as many 
and as faithful troops.” 

“Though not at hand, fortunately for us,” said Mont- 
calm, without waiting, in his ardor, for the interpreter. 
“There is a destiny in war, to which a brave man knows 
how to submit with the same courage that he faces his 
foes.” 

“Had I been conscious that Monsieur Montcalm was 
master of the English, I should have spared myself the 
trouble of so awkward a translation,” said the vexed Dun- 
can, dryly; remembering instantly his recent by-play with 
Munro. 

“Your pardon, monsieur,” rejoined the Frenchman, suf- 
fering a slight color to appear on his dark cheek. “There 
is a vast difference between understanding and speaking 
a foreign tongue; you will, therefore, please to assist me 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


207 


still.” Then, after a short pause, he added, “These hills 
afford us every opportunity of reconnoitering your works, 
messieurs, and I am possibly as well acquainted with their 
weak condition as you can be yourselves.” 

"Ask the French general if his glasses can reach to the 
Hudson,” said Munro, proudly; “and if he knows when 
and where to expect the army of Webb.” 

“Let General Webb be his own interpreter,” returned 
the politic Montcalm, suddenly extending an open Ifetter 
toward Munro, as he spoke; “you will there learn, mon- 
sieur, that his movements are not likely to prove embar- 
rassing to my army.” 

The veteran seized the offered paper, without waiting for 
Duncan to translate the speech, and with an eagerness that 
betrayed how important he deemed its contents. As his eye 
passed hastily over the words, his countenance changed 
from its look of military pride to one of deep chagrin: his 
lip began to quiver; and, suffering the paper to fall from 
his hand, his head dropped upon his chest, like that of a 
man whose hopes were withered at a single blow. Duncan 
caught the letter from the ground, and, without apology for 
the liberty he took, he read at a glance its cruel purport. 
Their common superior, so far from encouraging them to 
resist, advised a speedy surrender, urging in the plainest 
language, as a reason, the utter impossibility of his send- 
ing a single man to their rescue. 

“Here is no deception!” exclaimed Duncan, examining 
the billet both inside and out; “this is the signature of 
Webb, and must be the captured letter.” 

“The man has betrayed me!” Munro at length bitterly 
exclaimed: “he has brought dishonor to the door of one 
where disgrace was never before known to dwell, and 
shame has he heaped heavily on my gray hairs.” 

“Say not so,” cried Duncan; “we are yet masters of 
the fort, and of our honor. Let us then sell our lives at 
such a rate as shall make our enemies believe the purchase 
too dear.” 

“Boy, I thank thee,” exclaimed the old man, rousing him- 
self from his stupor; “you have, for once, reminded 


208 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


Mimro of his duty. We will go back, and dig our graves 
behind those ramparts.” 

“Messieurs,” said Montcalm, advancing toward them a 
step, in generous interest, “you little know Louis de St. 
Veran, if you believe him capable of profiting by this let- 
ter to humble brave men, or to build up a dishonest repu- 
tation for himself. Listen to my terms before you leave 
me.” 

“What says the Frenchman?” demanded the veteran, 
sternly; “does he make a merit of having captured a scout, 
with a note from headquarters? Sir, he had better raise 
this siege, to go and sit down before Edward if he wishes 
to frighten his enemy with words.” 

Duncan explained the other’s meaning. 

“Monsieur de Montcalm, we will hear you,” the veteran 
added, more calmly, as Duncan ended. 

“To retain the fort is now impossible,” said his liberal 
enemy; “it is necessary to the interests of my master that 
it should be destroyed; but as for yourselves and your 
brave comrades, there is no privilege dear to a soldier that 
shall be denied.” 

“Our colors?” demanded Heyward. 

“Carry them to England, and show them to your king.” 

“Our arms?” 

“Keep them; none can use them better.” 

“Our march? the surrender of the place?” 

“Shall all be done in a way most honorable to your- 
selves.” 

Duncan now turned to explain these proposals to his 
commander, who heard him with amazement, and a sensi- 
bility that was deeply touched by so unusual and unex- 
pected generosity. 

“Go you, Duncan,” he said; “go with this marquess, as 
indeed marquess he should be; go to his marquee and 
arrange it all. I have lived to see two things in my old 
age, that never did I expect to behold: an Englishman 
afraid to support a friend, and a Frenchman too honest to 
profit by his advantage.” 

So saying, the veteran again dropped his head to his 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


209 


chest, and returned slowly toward the fort, exhibiting, by 
the dejection of his air, to the anxious garrison, a harbinger 
of evil tidings. 

From the shock of this unexpected blow the haughty 
feelings of Munro never recovered; but from that moment 
there commenced a change in his determined character, 
which accompanied him to a speedy grave. Duncan re- 
mained to settle the terms of the capitulation. He was 
seen to re-enter the works during the first watches of the 
night, and, immediately after a private conference with the 
commandant, to leave them again. It was then openly 
announced that hostilities must cease—Munro having signed 
a treaty by which the place was to be yielded to the enemy, 
with the morning; the garrison to retain their arms, their 
colors, and their baggage, and consequently, according to 
military opinion, their honor. 


CHAPTER XVII ^ 

Weave we the woof. The thread is spun, 

The web is wove. The work is done. 

—Gray. 

The hostile armies which lay in the wTlds of the Horican 
passed the night of the 9th of August, 1757, much in the 
manner they would had they encountered on the fairest 
fields of Europe. While the conquered were still, sullen, 
and dejected, the victors triumphed. But there are limits 
alike to grief and joy; and long before the watches of the 
morning came, the stillness of those boundless woods was 
only broken by a gay call from some exulting young 
Frenchman of the advanced pickets, or a menacing chal- 
lenge from the fort, which sternly forbade the approach of 
any hostile footsteps before the stipulated moment. Even 
these occasional threatening sounds ceased to be heard in 
that dull hour which precedes the day, at which period a 
listener might have sought in vain any evidence of the 

1 The fifteenth chapter of Parkman’s “Montcalm and Wolfe” relates 
the historical events of this tragic seventeenth chapter. 

14 


210 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


presence of those armed powers that then slumbered on 
the shores of the “holy lake.” 

It was during these moments of deep silence that the 
canvas which concealed the entrance to a spacious marquee 
in the French encampment was shoved aside, and a man 
issued from beneath the drapery into the open air. He was 
enveloped in a cloak that might have been intended as a 
protection from the chilling damps of the woods, but which 
served equally well as a mantle to conceal his person. He 
was permitted to pass the grenadier, who watched over the 
slumbers of the French commander, without interruption, 
the man making the usual salute which betokens military 
deference, as the other passed swiftly through the little city 
of tents, in the direction of William Henry. Whenever this 
unknown individual encountered one of the numberless sen- 
tinels who crossed his path, his answer was prompt, and as 
it appeared satisfactory; for he was uniformly allowed to 
proceed without further interrogation. 

With the exception of such repeated but brief interrup- 
tions, he had moved, silently, from the centre of the camp 
to its most advanced outposts, when he drew nigh the 
soldier who held his watch nearest to the works of the 
enemy. As he approached he was received with the usual 
challenge, — “Qui vive?” 

“France,” was the reply. 

“Le mot d’ordre?”^ 

“La victoire,” said the other, drawing so nigh as to be 
heard in a loud whisper. 

“C’est bien,” returned the sentinel, throwing his musket 
from the charge to his shoulder; “vous vous promenez bien 
matin, monsieur!” 

“H est ndcessaire d’etre vigilant, mon enfant,” the other 
observed, dropping a fold of his cloak, and looking the sol- 
dier close in the face, as he passed him, still continuing his 
way toward the British fortification. The man started; his 
arms rattled heavily, as he threw them forward in the 
lowest and most respectful salute; and when he had again 

1 “The watchword?’’— “Victory.”— “All right; you are walking out Tery 
early, sir.” 

“One must be watchful, my boy.” 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 211 

recovered his piece, he turned to walk his post, muttering 
between his teeth, — 

“11 faut etre vigilant, en verite! je crois que nous avons 
la un caporal qui ne dort jamais!”^ 

The officer proceeded, without affecting to hear the words 
which escaped the sentinel in his surprise; nor did he again 
pause until he had reached the low strand, and in a some- 
what dangerous vicinity to the western water bastion of 
the fort. The light of an obscure moon was just sufficient 
to render objects, though dim, perceptible in their outlines. 
He therefore took the precaution to place himself against 
the trunk of a tree, where he leaned for many minutes, 
and seemed to contemplate the dark and silent mounds of 
the English works in profound attention. His gaze at 
the ramparts was not that of a curious or idle spectator; 
but his looks wandered from point to point, denoting his 
knowledge of military usages, and betraying that his search 
was not unaccompanied by distrust. At length he ap- 
peared satisfied; and having cast his eyes impatiently up- 
ward toward the summit of the eastern mountain, as if 
anticipating the approach of the morning, he was in the 
act of turning on his footsteps, when a light sound on the 
nearest angle of the bastion caught his ear, and induced 
him to remain. 

Just then a figure was seen to approach the edge of the 
rampart, where it stood, apparently contemplating in its 
turn the distant tents of the French encampment. Its 
head was then turned toward the east, as though equally 
anxious for the appearance of light, when the form leaned 
against the mound and seemed to gaze upon the glassy 
expanse of the waters, which, like a submarine firmament, 
glittered with its thousand mimic stars. The melancholy 
air, the hour, together with the vast frame of the man who 
thus leaned, in musing, against the English ramparts, left 
no doubt as to his person in the mind of his observant 
spectator. Delicacy, no less than prudence, now urged 
him to retire; and he had moved cautiously round the body 

1 “One must be watchful, verily! I believe we have a corporal who 
never sleeps!” 


212 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


of the tree for that purpose, when another sound drew his 
attention, and once more arrested his footsteps. It was 
a low and almost inaudible movement of the water, and was 
succeeded by a grating of pebbles one against the other. In 
a moment he saw a dark form rise, as it were out of the 
lake, and steal without further noise to the land, within a 
few feet of the place where he himself stood. A rifle next 
slowly rose between his eyes and the watery mirror; but 
before it could be discharged his own hand was on the lock. 

“Hugh!” exclaimed the savage, whose treacherous aim 
was so singularly and so unexpectedly interrupted. 

Without making any reply, the French officer laid his 
hand on the shoulder of the Indian, and led him in pro- 
found silence to a distance from the spot, where their sub- 
sequent dialogue might have proved dangerous, and where 
it seemed that one of them, at least, sought a victim. Then, 
throwing open his cloak so as to expose his uniform and 
the cross of St. Louis which was suspended at his breast, 
Montcalm sternly demanded, — 

“What means this! Does not my son know that the 
hatchet is buried between the English and his Canadian 
father?” 

“What can the Hurons do?” returned the savage, speak- 
ing also, though imperfectly, in the French language. 
“Not a warrior has a scalp, and the pale faces make 
friends!” 

“Ha! Le Renard Subtil! Methinks this is an excess of 
zeal for a friend who was so late an enemy! How many 
suns have set since Le Renard struck the war-post of the 
English?” 

“Where is that sun?” demanded the sullen savage. 
“Behind the hill; and it is dark and cold. But when he 
comes again it will be bright and warm. Le Subtil is the 
sun of his tribe. There have been clouds, and many 
mountains, between him and his nation; but now he shines, 
and it is a clear sky!” 

“That Le Renard has power with his people, I well 
know,” said Montcalm; “for yesterday he hunted for their 
scalps, and to-day they hear him at the council-fire.” 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


213 


“Magua is a great chief.” 

“Let him prove it, by teaching his nation how to conduct 
itself toward our new friends.” 

“Why did the chief of the Canadas bring his young men 
into the woods, and fire his cannon at the earthen house?” 
demanded the subtle Indian. 

“To subdue it. My master owns the land, and your 
father was ordered to drive off these English squatters. 
They have consented to go, and now he calls them enemies 
no longer.” 

“’Tis well. Magua took the hatchet to color it with 
blood. It is now bright; when it is red, it shall be buried.” 

“But Magua is pledged not to sully the lilies of France. 
The enemies of the great king across the salt lake are his 
enemies; his friends, the friends of the Hurons.” 

“Friends!” repeated the Indian, in scorn. “Let his 
father give Magua a hand.” 

Montcalm, who felt that his infiuence over the warlike 
tribes he had gathered was to be maintained by conces- 
sion rather than by power, complied reluctantly with the 
other’s request. The savage placed the finger of the French 
commander on a deep scar in his bosom, and then exult- 
ingly demanded, — 

“Does my father know that?” 

“What warrior does not? ’tis where a leaden bullet has 
cut.” 

“And this?” continued the Indian, who had turned his 
naked back to the other, his body being without its usual 
calico mantle. 

“This! — my son has been sadly injured, here; who has 
done this?” 

“Magua slept hard in the English wigwams, and the 
sticks have left their mark,” returned the savage, with a 
hollow laugh which did not conceal the fierce temper that 
nearly choked him. Then recollecting himself, with sud- 
den and native dignity, he added, “Go; teach your young 
men it is peace. Le Renard Subtil knows how to speak to 
a Huron warrior.” 

Without deigning to bestow further words, or to wait for , 


214 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


any answer, the savage cast his rifle into the hollow of hia 
arm, and moved silently through the encampment toward 
the woods where his own tribe was known to lie. Every 
few yards as he proceeded he was challenged by the senti- 
nels; but he stalked sullenly onward, utterly disregarding 
the summons of the soldiers, who only spared his life be- 
cause they knew the air and tread, no less than the obsti- 
nate daring, of an Indian. 

Montcalm lingered long and melancholy on the strand, 
where he had been left by his companion, brooding deeply 
on the temper which his ungovernable ally had just discov- 
ered. Already had his fair fame been tarnished by one 
horrid scene, and in circumstances fearfully resembling 
those under which he now found himself. As he mused, he 
became keenly sensible of the deep responsibility they 
assume who disregard the means to attain their end, and of 
all the danger of setting in motion an engine which it 
exceeds human power to control. Then, shaking off a 
train of reflections that he accounted a weakness in such 
a moment of triumph, he retraced his steps toward his 
tent, giving the order, as he passed, to make the signal 
that should arouse the army from its slumbers. 

The flrst tap of the French drums was echoed from the 
bosom of the fort, and presently the valley was filled with 
the strains of martial music, rising long, thrilling, and 
lively above the rattling accompaniment. The horns of the 
victors sounded merry and cheerful flourishes, until the last 
laggard of the camp was at his post; but the instant the 
British fifes had blown their shrill signal they became 
mute. In the meantime the day had dawned, and when 
the line of the French army was ready to receive its general, 
the rays of a brilliant sun were glancing along the glitter- 
ing array. Then that success, which was already so well 
known, was officially announced; the favored band who 
were selected to guard the gates of the fort were detailed, 
and defiled before their chief; the signal of their approach 
was given, and all the usual preparations for a change of 
masters were ordered and executed directly under the guns 
of the contested works. 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


215 


A very different scene presented itself within the lines 
of the Anglo-American army. As soon as the warning 
signal was given, it exhibited all the signs of a hurried and 
forced departure. The sullen soldiers shouldered their 
empty tubes and fell into their places, like men whose blood 
had been heated by the past contest, and who only de- 
sired the opportunity to revenge an indignity which was 
still wounding to their pride, concealed as it was under 
all the observances of military etiquette. Women and 
children ran from place to place, some bearing the scanty 
remnants of their baggage, and others searching in the 
ranks for those countenances they looked up to for pro- 
tection. 

Munro appeared among his silent troops, firm but de- 
jected. It was evident that the unexpected blow had 
struck deep into his heart, though he struggled to sustain 
his misfortune with the port of a man. 

Duncan was touched at the quiet and impressive exhibi- 
tion of his grief. He had discharged his own duty, and he 
now pressed to the side of the old man to know in what 
particular he might serve him. 

“My daughters,” was the brief but expressive reply. 

“Good heavens! are not arrangements already made for 
their convenience?” 

“To-day I am only a soldier. Major Heyward,” said the 
veteran. “All that you see here, claim alike to be my 
children.” 

Duncan had heard enough. Without losing one of those 
moments which had now become so precious, he fiew 
toward the quarters of Munro, in quest of the sisters. He 
found them on the threshold of the low edifice, already 
prepared to depart, and surrounded by a clamorous and 
weeping assemblage of their own sex, that had gathered 
about the place with a sort of instinctive consciousness that 
it was the point most likely to be protected. Though the 
cheeks of Cora were pale and her countenance anxious, she 
had lost none of her firmness; but the eyes of Alice were 
inflamed, and betrayed how long and bitterly she had wept. 
They both, however, received the young man with undis- 


'UC) THE I^AST OF THE MOHICANS. 

guised pleasure, the former, for a novelty, being the first 
to speak. 

“The fort is lost,” she said, with a melancholy smile; 
“though our good name, I trust, remains.” 

“’Tis brighter than ever. But, dearest Miss Munro, it is 
time to think less of others, and to make some provision for 
yourself. Military usage, — pride, — that pride on which you 
so much value yourself, demands that your father and I 
should for a little while continue with the troops. Then 
where to seek a proper protector for you against the 
confusion and chances of such a scene?” 

“None is necessary,” returned Cora; “who will dare to 
injure or insult the daughter of such a father, at a time 
like this?” 

“I would not leave you alone,” continued the youth, 
looking about him in a hurried manner, “for the command 
of the best regiment in the pay of the king. Remember, 
our Alice is not gifted with all your firmness, and God only 
knows the terror she might endure.” 

“You may be right,” Cora replied, smiling again, but 
far more sadly than before. “Listen! chance has already 
sent us a friend when he is most needed.” 

Duncan did listen, and on the instant comprehended her 
meaning. The low and serious sounds of the sacred music, 
so well known to the eastern provinces, caught his ear, and 
instantly drew him to an apartment in an adjacent building, 
which had already been deserted by its customary tenants. 
There he found David, pouring out his pious feelings 
through the only medium in which he ever indulged. Dun- 
can waited, until, by the cessation of the movement of the 
hand, he believed the strain was ended, when, by touching 
his shoulder, he drew the attention of the other to himself, 
and in a few words explained his wishes. 

“Even so,” replied the single-minded disciple of the 
King of Israel, when the young man had ended; “I have 
found much that is comely and melodious in the maidens, 
and it is fitting that we who have consorted in so much 
peril, should abide together in peace. I will attend them 
when I have completed my morning praise, to which noth- 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


217 


ing is now wanting but the doxology. Wilt thou bear a 
part, friend? The metre is common, and the tune, *South- 
well.’ ” 

Then, extending the little volume, and giving the pitch 
of the air anew with considerate attention, David recom- 
menced and finished his strains with a fixedness of manner 
that it was not easy to interrupt. Heyward was fain to 
wait until the verse was ended; when, seeing David reliev- 
ing himself from his spectacles, and replacing the book, he 
continued, — 

“It will be your duty to see that none dare to approach 
the ladies with any rude intention, or to offer insult or 
taunt at the misfortune of their brave father. In this 
task you will be seconded by the domestics of their house- 
hold.” 

“Even so.” 

“It is possible that the Indians and stragglers of the 
enemy may intrude, in which case you will remind them of 
the terms of the capitulation, and threaten to report their 
conduct to Montcalm. A word will suffice!” 

“If not, I have that here which shall,” returned David, 
exhibiting his book, with an air in which meekness and con- 
fidence were singularly blended. “Here are words which, 
uttered, or rather thundered, with proper emphasis, and in 
measured time, shall quiet the most unruly temper: — 

“ ‘Why rage the heathen furiously?’ 

“Enough,” said Heyward, interrupting the burst of his 
musical invocation; “we understand each other; it is time 
that we should now assume our respective duties.” 

Gamut cheerfully assented, and together they sought the 
females. Cora received her new and somewhat extraordi- 
nary protector courteously at least; and even the pallid 
features of Alice lighted again with some of their native 
archness as she thanked Heyward for his care. Duncan 
took occasion to assure them he had done the best that cir- 
cumstances permitted, and, as he believed, quite enough for 
the security of their feelings; of danger there was none. 
He then spoke gladly of his intention to rejoin them the 


218 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


moment he had led the advance a few miles toward the 
Hudson, and immediately took his leave. 

By this time the signal of departure had been given, and 
the head of the English column was in motion. The sisters 
started at the sound, and, glancing their eyes around, they 
saw the white uniforms of the French grenadiers, who 
had already taken possession of the gates of the fort. At 
that moment an enormous cloud seemed to pass suddenly 
above their heads, and, looking upward, they discovered 
that they stood beneath the wide folds of the standard of 
France. 

“Let us go,” said Cora; “this is no longer a fit place for 
the children of an English officer.” 

Alice clung to the arm of her sister, and together they 
left the parade, accompanied by the moving throng that 
surrounded them. 

As they passed the gates, the French officers, who had 
learned their rank, bowed often and low, forbearing, how- 
ever, to intrude those attentions which they saw, with 
peculiar tact, might not be agreeable. As every vehicle 
and each beast of burden was occupied by the sick and 
wounded, Cora had decided to endure the fatigues of a 
foot march, rather than interfere with their comforts. In- 
deed, many a maimed and feeble soldier was compelled to 
drag his exhausted limbs in the rear of the columns, for the 
want of the necessary means of conveyance in that wilder- 
ness. The whole, however, was in motion; the weak and 
wounded, groaning and in suffering; their comrades, silent 
and sullen; and the women and children in terror, they 
knew not of what. 

As the confused and timid throng left the protecting 
mounds of the fort, and issued on the open plain, the 
whole scene was at once presented to their eyes. At a 
little distance on the right, and somewhat in the rear, the 
French army stood to their arms, Montcalm having col- 
lected his parties, so soon as his guards had possession of 
the works. They were attentive but silent observers of the 
proceedings of the vanquished, failing in none of the stip- 
ulated military honors, and offering no taunt or insult, 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


219 


in their success, to their less fortunate foes. Living masses 
of the English, to the amount in the whole of near three 
thousand, were moving slowly across the plain toward the 
common centre, and gradually approached each other as 
they converged to the point of their march, — a vista cut 
through the lofty trees, where the road to the Hudson 
entered the forest. Along the sweeping borders of the 
woods hung a dark cloud of savages, eyeing the passage of 
their enemies, and hovering, at a distance, like vultures 
who were only kept from swooping on their prey by the 
presence and restraint of a superior army. A few had 
straggled among the conquered columns, where they stalked 
in sullen discontent, attentive, though as yet passive ob- 
servers of the moving multitude. 

The advance, with Heyward at its head, had already 
reached the defile, and was slowly disappearing, when the 
attention of Cora was drawn to a collection of stragglers, by 
the sounds of contention. A truant provincial was paying 
the forfeit of his disobedience by being plundered of those 
very effects which had caused him to desert his place in the 
ranks. The man was of powerful frame, and too avaricious 
to part with his goods without a struggle. Individuals from 
either party interfered, the one side to prevent, and the 
other to aid in the robbery. Voices grew loud and angry, 
and a hundred savages appeared, as it were by magic, where 
a dozen only had been seen a minute before. It was then 
that Cora saw the form of Magua gliding among his coun- 
trymen, and speaking with his fatal and artful eloquence. 
The mass of women and children stopped, and hovered 
together like alarmed and fluttering birds. But the cupid- 
ity of the Indian was soon gratified, and the different bodies 
again moved slowly onward. 

The savages now fell back, and seemed content to let 
their enemies advance without further molestation. But 
as the female crowd approached them, the gaudy colors 
of a shawl attracted the eyes of a wild and untutored 
Huron. He advanced to seize it, without the least hesita- 
tion. The woman, more in terror than through love of the 
ornament, wrapped her child in the coveted article, and 


220 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


folded both more closely to her bosom. Cora was in the 
act of speaking, with an intent to advise the woman to 
abandon the trifle, when the savage relinquished his hold 
of the shawl, and tore the screaming infant from her arms. 
Abandoning everything to the greedy grasp of those around 
her, the mother darted, with distraction in her mien, to 
reclaim her child. The Indian smiled grimly, and extended 
one hand, in sign of a willingness to exchange, while with 
the other he flourished the babe over his head, holding it 
by the feet as if to enchance the value of the ransom. 

“Here — here — there — all — any — everything! ” exclaimed 
the breathless woman, tearing the lighter articles of dress 
from her person, with ill-directed and trembling Angers; 
“take all, but give me my babe!” 

The savage spurned the worthless rags; and, perceiving 
that the shawl had already become a prize to another, his 
bantering but sullen smile changing to a gleam of ferocity, 
he dashed the head of the infant against a rock and cast 
its quivering remains to her very feet. For an instant the 
mother stood, like a statue of despair, looking wildly down 
at the unseemly object which had so lately nestled in her 
bosom and smiled in her face; and then she raised her eyes 
and countenance toward heaven, as if calling on God to 
curse the perpetrator of the foul deed. She was spared the 
sin of such a prayer; for, maddened at his disappointment, 
and excited at the sight of blood, the Huron mercifully 
drove his tomahawk into her own brain. The mother sank 
under the blow, and fell, grasping at her child, in death, 
with the same engrossing love that had caused her to 
cherish it when living. 

At that dangerous moment Magua placed his hands to his 
mouth, and raised the fatal and appalling whoop. The 
scattered Indians started at the well-known cry, as coursers 
bound at the signal to quit the goal; and, directly, there 
arose such a yell along the plain, and through the arches of 
the wood, as seldom burst from human lips before. They 
who heard it listened with a curdling horror at the heart, 
little inferior to that dread which may be expected to at- 
tend the blasts of the flnal summons. 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


221 


More than two thousand raving savages broke from the 
forest at the signal, and threw themselves across the fatal 
plain with instinctive alacrity. We shall not dwell on the 
revolting horrors that succeeded. Death was everywhere, 
and in his most terrific and disgusting aspects. Resistance 
only served to inflame the murderers, who inflicted their 
furious blows long after their victims were beyond the 
power of their resentment. The flow of blood might be 
likened to the outbreaking of a torrent; and, as the natives 
became heated and maddened by the sight, many among 
them even kneeled to the earth, and drank freely, exult- 
ingly, hellishly, of the crimson tide. 

The trained bodies of the troops threw themselves 
quickly into solid masses, endeavoring to awe their assail- 
ants by the imposing appearance of a military front. The 
experiment in some measure succeeded, though far too 
many suffered their unloaded muskets to be torn from their 
hands, in the vain hope of appeasing the savages. 

In such a scene none had leisure to note the fleeting mo- 
ments. It might have been ten minutes (it seemed an age), 
that the sisters had stood riveted to one spot, horror- 
stricken and nearly helpless. When the first blow was 
struck, their screaming companions had pressed upon them 
in a body, rendering flight impossible; and now that fear 
or death had scattered most, if not all, from around them, 
they saw no avenue open but such as conducted to the 
tomahawks of their foes. On every side arose shrieks, 
groans, exhortations, and curses. At this moment Alice 
caught a glimpse of the vast form of her father, moving 
rapidly across the plain, in the direction of the French 
army. He was, in truth, proceeding to Montcalm, fearless 
of every danger, to claim the tardy escort for which he had 
before conditioned. Fifty glittering axes and barbed spears 
were offered unheeded at his life, but the savages re- 
spected his rank and calmness, even in their fury. The 
dangerous weapons were brushed aside by the still nervous 
arm of the veteran, or fell of themselves, after menacing an 
act that it would seem no one had courage to perform. 
Fortunately, the vindictive Magua was searching for his 


222 THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 

victim in the very band the veteran had just quitted. 

“Father — father — we are here!” shrieked Alice, as he 
passed, at no great distance, without appearing to heed 
them. “Come to us, father, or we die!” 

The cry was repeated, and in terms and tones that might 
have melted a heart of stone, but it was unanswered. Once, 
indeed, the old man appeared to catch the sounds, for he 
paused and listened; but Alice had dropped senseless on the 
earth, and Cora had sunk at her side, hovering in untiring 
tenderness over her lifeless form. Munro shook his head in 
disappointment, and proceeded, bent on the high duty of 
his station. 

“Lady,” said Gamut, who, helpless and useless as he was, 
had not yet dreamed of deserting his trust, “it is the jubi- 
lee of the devils, and this is not a meet place for Christians 
to tarry in. Let us up and fly.” 

“Go,” said Cora, still gazing at her unconscious sister; 
“save thyself. To me thou canst not be of further use.” 

David comprehended the unyielding character of her 
resolution, by the simple but expressive gesture that accom- 
panied her words. He gazed, for a moment, at the dusky 
forms that were acting their hellish rites on every side of 
him, and his tall person grew more erect, while his chest 
heaved, and every feature swelled, and seemed to speak 
with the power of the feelings by which he was governed. 

“If the Jewish boy might tame the evil spirit of Saul by 
the sound of his harp, and the words of sacred song, it may 
not be amiss,” he said, “to try the potency of music here.” 

Then raising his voice to its highest tones, he poured 
out a strain so powerful as to be heard even amid the din 
of that bloody fleld. More than one savage rushed toward 
them, thinking to rifle the unprotected sisters of their 
attire, and bear away their scalps; but when they found 
this strange and unmoved figure riveted to his post, they 
paused to listen. Astonishment soon changed to admira- 
tion, and they passed on to other, and less courageous vic- 
tims, openly expressing their satisfaction at the firmness 
with which the white warrior sang his death song. En- 
couraged and deluded by his success, David exerted all his 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


223 


powers to extend what he believed so holy an influence. 
The unwonted sounds caught the ears of a distant savage, 
who flew raging from group to group, like one who, scorn- 
ing to touch the vulgar herd, hunted for some victim more 
worthy of his renown. It was Magua, who uttered a yell 
of pleasure when he beheld his ancient prisoners again at 
his mercy. 

“Come,” he said, laying his soiled hands on the dress of 
Cora, “the wigwam of the Huron is still open. Is it not 
better than this place?” 

“Away!” cried Cora, veiling her eyes from his revolting 
aspect. 

The Indian laughed tauntingly, as he held up his reek- 
ing hand, and answered, — “It is red, but it comes from 
white veins!” 

“Monster! there is blood, oceans of blood, upon thy 
soul; thy spirit has moved this scene.” 

“Magua is a great chief!” returned the exulting savage; 
“will the dark hair go to his tribe?” 

“Never! strike, if thou wilt, and complete thy revenge.” 

He hesitated a moment; and then catching the light and 
senseless form of Alice in his arms, the subtle Indian moved 
swiftly across the plain toward the woods. 

“Hold!” shrieked Cora, following wildly on his footsteps; 
“release the child! wretch! what is’t you do?” 

But Magua was deaf to her voice; or rather he knew his 
power, and was determined to maintain it. 

“Stay — lady — stay,” called Gamut, after the unconscious 
Cora. “The holy charm is beginning to be felt, and soon 
shalt thou see this horrid tumult stilled.” 

Perceiving that, in his turn, he was unheeded, the faith- 
ful David followed the distracted sister, raising his voice 
again in sacred song, and sweeping the air to the measure, 
with his long arm, in diligent accompaniment. In this 
manner they traversed the plain, through the flying, the 
wounded, and the dead. The fierce Huron was, at any 
time, sufficient for himself and the victim that he bore; 
though Cora would have fallen, more than once, under the 
blows of her savage enemies but for the extraordinary being 


224 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


who stalked in her rear, and who now appeared to the 
astonished natives gifted with the protecting spirit of mad- 
ness. 

Magua, who knew how to avoid the more pressing dan- 
gers, and also to elude pursuit, entered the woods through 
a low ravine, where he quickly found the Narragansetts, 
which the travellers had abandoned so shortly before, await- 
ing his appearance, in custody of a savage as fierce and as 
malign in his expression as himself. Laying Alice on one 
of the horses, he made a sign to Cora to mount the other. 

Notwithstanding the horror excited by the presence of 
her captor, there was a present relief in escaping from the 
bloody scene enacting on the plain, to which Cora could not 
be altogether insensible. She took her seat, and held forth 
her arms for her sister, with an air of entreaty and love that 
even the Huron could not deny. Placing Alice, then, on 
the same animal with Cora, he seized the bridle, and com- 
menced his route by plunging deeper into the forest. 
David, perceiving that he was left alone, utterly disre- 
garded, as a subject too worthless even to destroy, threw 
his long limb across the saddle of the beast they had de- 
serted, and made such progress in the pursuit as the difla- 
culties of the path permitted. 

They soon began to ascend, but as the motion had a ten- 
dency to revive the dormant faculties of her sister, the 
attention of Cora was too much divided between the ten- 
derest solicitude in her behalf, and in listening to the cries 
which were still too audible on the plain, to note the direc- 
tion in which they journeyed. When, however, they gained 
the fiattened surface of the mountain-top, and approached 
the eastern precipice, she recognized the spot to which she 
had once before been led under the more friendly auspices 
of the scout. Here Magua suffered them to dismount; and, 
notwithstanding their own captivity, the curiosity which 
seems inseparable from horror induced them to gaze at the 
sickening sight below. 

The cruel work was still unchecked. On every side the 
captured were flying before their relentless persecutors, 
while the armed columns of the Christian King stood fast 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


225 


in an apathy which has never been explained, and which 
has left an immovable blot on the otherwise fair escutcheon 
of their leader. Nor was the sword of death stayed until 
cupidity got the mastery of revenge. Then, indeed, the 
shrieks of the wounded and the yells of their murderers 
grew less frequent, until, finally, the cries of horror were 
lost to their ear, or were drowned in the loud, long, and 
piercing whoops of the triumphant savages.^ 


CHAPTER XVIII 

Why, any thing: 

An honorable murderer, if you will; 

For naught did I in hate, but all in honor. 

—Othello. 

The bloody and inhuman scene rather incidentally men- 
tioned than described in the preceding chapter is con- 
spicuous in the pages of colonial history by the merited 
title of “the massacre of William Henry.” It so far 
deepened the stain which a previous and very similar event 
had left upon the reputation of the French commander, 
that it was not entirely erased by his early and glorious 
death. It is now becoming obscured by time; and thou- 
sands who know that Montcalm died like a hero on the 
plains of Abraham have yet to learn how much he was 
deficient in that moral courage without which no man can 
be truly great. Pages might be written to prove, from this 
illustrious example, the defects of human excellence; to 
show how easy it is for generous sentiments, high courtesy, 
and chivalrous courage to lose their infiuence beneath the 
chilling blight of selfishness, and to exhibit to the world a 
man who was great in all the minor attributes of character, 
but who was found wanting when it became necessary to 
prove how much principle is superior to policy. But the 
task would exceed our prerogatives; and, as history, like 
love, is so apt to surround her heroes with an atmosphere 

1 The accounts of the number who fell In this unhappy affair vary 
between five and fifteen hundred. [Cooper’s note.] 

15 


226 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


of imaginary brightness, it is probable that Louis de Saint 
V6ran will be viewed by posterity only as the gallant 
defender of his country, while his cruel apathy on the 
shores of the Oswego and of the Horican will be fofgotten. 
Deeply regretting this weakness on the part of a sister 
muse, we shall at once retire from her sacred precincts, 
within the proper limits of our own humble vocation. 

The third day from the capture of the fort was drawing 
to a close, but the business of the narrative must still detain 
the reader on the shores of the “holy lake.” When last 
seen, the environs of the works were filled with violence 
and uproar. They were now possessed by stillness and 
death. The blood-stained conquerors had departed; and 
their camp, which had so lately rung with the merry re- 
joicings of a victorious army, lay a silent and deserted city 
of huts. The fortress was a smouldering ruin, charred 
rafters, fragments of exploded artillery, and rent mason- 
work covering its earthen mounds in confused disorder. 

A frightful change had also occurred in the season. The 
sun had hid its warmth behind an impenetrable mass of 
vapor, and hundreds of human forms, which had black- 
ened beneath the fierce heats of August, were stiffening in 
their deformity before the blasts of a premature November. 
The curling and spotless mists which had been seen sailing 
above the hills toward the north were now returning in 
an interminable dusky sheet that was urged along by the 
fury of a tempest. The crowded mirror of the Horican was 
gone; and, in its place, the green and angry waters lashed 
the shores, as if indignantly casting back its impurities to 
the polluted strand. Still, the clear fountain retained a 
portion of its charmed infiuence, but it refiected only the 
sombre gloom that fell from the impending heavens. That 
humid and congenial atmosphere which commonly adorned 
the view, veiling its harshness and softening its asperities, 
had disappeared, and the northern air poured across the 
waste of water so harsh and unmingled that nothing was 
left to be conjectured by the eye or fashioned by the fancy. 

The fiercer element had cropped the verdure of the 
plain, which looked as though it were scathed by the con- 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


227 


suming lightning. But, here and there, a dark green tuft 
rose in the midst of the desolation; the earliest fruits of 
a soil that had been fattened with human blood. The 
whole landscape, which, seen by a favoring light and in a 
genial temperature, had been found so lovely, appeared 
now like some pictured allegory of life, in which objects 
were arrayed in their harshest but truest colors, and with- 
out the relief of any shadowing. 

The solitary and arid blades of grass arose from the 
passing gusts fearfully perceptible; the bold and rocky 
mountains were too distinct in their barrenness, and the eye 
even sought relief, in vain, by attempting to pierce the 
illimitable void of heaven, which was shut to its gaze by the 
dusky sheet of ragged and driving vapor. 

The wind blew unequally, sometimes sweeping heavily 
along the ground, seeming to whisper its meanings in the 
cold ears of the dead; then, rising in a shrill and mournful 
whistling, it entered the forest v/ith a rush that filled the 
air with the leaves and branches it scattered in its path. 
Amid the unnatural shower a few hungry ravens struggled 
with the gale; but no sooner was the green ocean of woods, 
which stretched beneath them, passed, than they gladly 
stopped, at random, to their hideous banquet. 

In short, it was the scene of wildness and desolation; and 
it appeared as if all who had profanely entered it had been 
stricken, at a blow, by the relentless arm of death. But the 
prohibition had ceased; and for the first time since the per- 
petrators of those foul deeds which had assisted to disfigure 
the scene were gone, living human beings had now pre- 
sumed to approach the place. 

About an hour before the setting of the sun, on the day 
already mentioned, the forms of five men might have been 
seen issuing from the narrow vista of trees, where the path 
to the Hudson entered the forest, and advancing in the 
direction of the ruined works. At first their progress was 
slow and guarded, as though they entered with reluctance 
amid the horrors of the spot, or dreaded the renewal of its 
frightful incidents. A light figure preceded the rest of 
the party, with the caution and activity of a native; ascend- 


228 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


ing every hillock to reconnoitre, and indicating, by ges- 
tures, to his companions, the route he deemed it most pru- 
dent to pursue. Nor were those in the rear wanting in 
every caution and foresight known to forest warfare. One 
among them, he also was an Indian, moved a little on one 
flank, and watched the margin of the woods, with eyes long 
accustomed to read the smallest sign of danger. The re- 
maining three were white, though clad in vestments 
adapted, both in quality and color, to their present hazard- 
ous pursuit, — that of hanging on the skirts of a retiring 
army in the wilderness. 

The effects produced by the appalling sights that con- 
stantly arose in their path to the lake shore were as differ- 
ent as the characters of the respective individuals who 
composed the party. The youth in front threw serious but 
furtive glances at the mangled victims, as he stepped lightly 
across the plain, afraid to exhibit his feelings, and yet too 
inexperienced to quell entirely their sudden and powerful 
influence. His red associate, however, was superior to such 
a weakness. He passed the groups of dead with a steadi- 
ness of purpose, and an eye so calm, that nothing but long 
and inveterate practice could enable him to maintain. The 
sensations produced in the minds of even the white men 
were different, though uniformly sorrowful. One, whose 
gray locks and furrowed lineaments, blending with a mar- 
tial air and tread, betrayed, in spite of the disguise of a 
woodsman’s dress, a man long experienced in scenes of war, 
was not ashamed to groan aloud, wdienever a spectacle of 
more than usual horror came under his view. The young 
man at his elbow shuddered, but seemed to suppress his 
feelings in tenderness to his companion. Of them all, 
the straggler who brought up the rear appeared alone to 
betray his real thoughts, without fear of observation or 
dread of consequences. He gazed at the most appalling 
sight with eyes and muscles that knew not how to waver, 
but with execrations so bitter and deep as to denote how 
much he denounced the crime of his enemies. 

The reader will perceive at once, in these respective 
characters, the Mohicans and their white friend, the scout. 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


329 


together with Munro and Heyward. It was, in truth, the 
father in quest of his children, attended by the youth who 
felt so deep a stake in their happiness, and those brave and 
trusty foresters who had already proved their skill and 
fidelity through the trying scenes related. 

When Uncas, who moved in front, had reached the centre 
of the plain, he raised a cry that drew his companions in 
a body to the spot. The young warrior had halted over a 
group of females who lay in a cluster, a confused mass of 
dead. Notwithstanding the revolting horror of the exhibi- 
tion, Munro and Heyward fiew toward the festering heap, 
endeavoring, with a love that no unseemliness could ex- 
tinguish, to discover whether any vestiges of those they 
sought were to be seen among the tattered and many-col- 
ored garments. The father and the lover found instant re- 
lief in the search, though each was condemned again to ex- 
perience the misery of an uncertainty that was hardly less 
insupportable than the most revolting truth. They were 
standing, silent and thoughtful, around the melancholy 
pile, when the scout approached. Eyeing the sad spectacle 
with an angry countenance, the sturdy woodsman, for the 
first time since his entering the plain, spoke intelligibly and 
aloud: — 

“I have been on many a shocking field, and have fol- 
lowed a trail of blood for weary miles,” he said, “but never 
have I found the hand of the devil so plain as it is here to 
be seen! Revenge is an Indian feeling, and all who know 
me know that there is no cross in my veins; but this much 
will I say— here, in the face of heaven, and with the power 
of the Lord so manifest in this howling wilderness,— that 
should these Frenchers ever trust themselves again within 
the range of a ragged bullet, there is one rifle shall play its 
part, so long as flint will fire or powder burn! I leave the 
tomahawk and knife to such as have a natural gift to use 
them. What say you, Chingachgook,” he added in Dela- 
ware; “shall the Hurons boast of this to their women when 
the deep snows come?” 

A gleam of resentment flashed across the dark lineaments 
of the Mohican chief; he loosened his knife in his sheath; 


230 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


and then turning calmly from the sight, his countenance 
settled into a repose as deep as if he never knew the insti- 
gation of passion. 

“Montcalm! Montcalm!” continued the deeply resent- 
ful and less self-restrained scout; “they say a time must 
come, when all the deeds done in the flesh will be seen at 
a single look; and that by eyes cleared from mortal infir- 
mities. Woe betide the wretch who is born to behold this 
plain, with the judgment hanging about his soul! Ha — as 
I am a man of white blood, yonder lies a redskin, without 
the hair of his head where nature rooted it! Look to him, 
Delaware; it may be one of your missing people; and he 
should have burial like a stout warrior. I see it in your 
eye. Sagamore; a Huron pays for this, afore the fall winds 
have blown away the scent of the blood!” 

Chingachgook approached the mutilated form, and turn- 
ing it over, he found the distinguishing marks of one of 
those six allied tribes, or nations, as they were called, who, 
while they fought in the English ranks, were so deadly 
hostile to his own people. Spurning the loathsome object 
with his foot, he turned from it with the same indifference 
he would have quitted a brute carcass. The scout com- 
prehended the action, and very deliberately pursued his 
own way, continuing, however, his denunciations against 
the French commander in the same resentful strain. 

“Nothing but vast wisdom and onlimited power should 
dare to sweep off men in multitudes,” he added; “for it is 
only the one that can know the necessity of the judgment; 
and what is there, short of the other, that can replace the 
creatures of the Lord? I hold it a sin to kill the second 
buck afore the first is eaten, unless a march in the front, or 
an ambushment, be contemplated. It is a different matter 
with a few warriors in open and rugged fight, for 'tis their 
gift to die with the rifle or the tomahawk in hand; accord- 
ing as their natures may happen to be, white or red. Uncas, 
come this way, lad, and let the ravens settle upon the 
Mingo. I know, from often seeing it, that they have a 
craving for the flesh of an Oneida; and it is as well to let 
the bird follow the gift of its natural appetite.” 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


231 


“Hugh!” exclaimed the young Mohican, rising on the 
extremities of his feet, and gazing intently in his front, 
frightening the raven to some other prey, by the sound and 
the action. 

“What is it, boy?” whispered the scout, lowering his 
tall form into a crouching attitude, like a panther about to 
take his leap; “God send it be a tardy Frencher, skulking 
for plunder. I do believe ‘Killdeer’ would take an on- 
common range to-day!” 

Uncas, without making any reply, bounded away from 
the spot, and in the next instant he was seen tearing 
from a bush, and waving in triumph, a fragment of the 
green riding-veil of Cora. The movement, the exhibi- 
tion, and the cry, which again burst from the lips of the 
young Mohican, instantly drew the whole party about 
him. 

“My child!” said Munro, speaking quick and wildly; 
“give me my child!” 

“Uncas will try,” was the short and touching answer. 

The simple but meaning assurance was lost on the father, 
who seized the piece of gauze, and crushed it in his hand, 
while his eyes roamed fearfully among the bushes, as if 
he equally dreaded and hoped for the secrets they might 
reveal. 

“Here are no dead,” said Heyward; “the storm seems 
not to have passed this way.” 

“That’s manifest; and clearer than the heavens above 
our heads,” returned the undisturbed scout; “but either 
she, or they that have robbed her, have passed the bush; 
for I remember the rag she wore to hide a face that all 
did love to look upon. Uncas, you are right; the dark- 
hair has been here, and she has fled like a frightened fawn 
to the wood; none who could fly would remain to be mur- 
dered. Let us search for the marks she left; for to Indian 
eyes I sometimes think even a humming-bird leaves his 
trail in the air.” 

The young Mohican darted away at the suggestion, and 
the scout had hardly done speaking before the former raised 
a cry of success from the margin of the forest. On reach- 


232 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


ing the spot, the anxious party perceived another portion 
of the veil fluttering on the lower branch of a beech. 

“Softly, softly,” said the scout, extending his long rifle 
in front of the eager Heyward; “we now know our work, 
but the beauty of the trail must not be deformed. A step 
too soon may give us hours of trouble. We have them, 
though; that much is beyond denial.” 

“Bless ye, bless ye, worthy man!” exclaimed Munro; 
“whither, then, have they fled, and where are my babes?” 

“The path they have taken depends on many chances. 
If they have gone alone, they are quite as likely to move in 
a circle as straight, and they may be within a dozen miles 
of us; but if the Hurons, or any of the French Indians, 
have laid hands on them, ’tis probable they are now near 
the borders of the Canadas. But what matters that?” 
continued the deliberate scout, observing the powerful anx- 
iety and disappointment the listeners exhibited; “here are 
the Mohicans and I on one end of the trail, and, rely on it, 
we find the other, though they should be a hundred leagues 
asunder! Gently, gently, Uncas, you are as impatient as a 
man in the settlements; you forget that light feet leave but 
faint marks!” 

“Hugh!” exclaimed Chingachgook, who had been occu- 
pied in examining an opening that had been evidently made 
through the low underbrush which skirted the forest; and 
who now stood erect, as he pointed downward, in the atti- 
tude and with the air of a man who beheld a disgusting 
serpent. 

“Here is the palpable impression of the footstep of a 
man,” cried Heyward, bending over the indicated spot; 
“he has trod in the margin of this pool, and the mark 
cannot be mistaken. They are captives.” 

“Better so than left to starve in the wilderness,” returned 
the scout; “and they will leave a wider trail. I would 
wager fifty beaver skins against as many flints that the 
Mohicans and I enter their wigwams within the month! 
Stoop to it, Uncas, and try what you can make of the moc- 
casin; for moccasin it plainly is, and no shoe.” 

The young Mohican bent over the track, and, removing 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


233 


the scattered leaves from around the place, he examined it 
with much of that sort of scrutiny that a money-dealer, in 
these days of pecuniary doubts, would bestow on a sus- 
pected due-bill. At length he arose from his knees, satis- 
fied with the result of the examination. 

“Well, boy,” demanded the attentive scout, “what does 
it say? can you make anything of the tell-tale?” 

“Le Renard Subtil!” 

“Ha! that rampaging devil again! there never will be 
an end of his loping till ‘Killdeer’ has said a friendly word 
to him.” 

Heyward reluctantly admitted the truth of this intelli- 
gence, and now expressed rather his hopes than his doubts 
by saying, — 

“One moccasin is so much like another, it is probable 
there is some mistake.” 

“One moccasin like another! you may as well say that 
one foot is like another; though we all know that some are 
long, and others short; some broad, and others narrow; 
some with high, and some with low insteps; some in-toed, 
and some out. One moccasin is no more like another than 
one book is like another; though they who can read in one 
are seldom able to tell the marks of the other. Which is 
all ordered for the best, giving to every man his natural 
advantages. Let me get down to it, Uncas; neither book 
nor moccasin is the worse for having two opinions, instead 
of one.” The scout stooped to the task, and instantly 
added, “You are right, boy; here is the patch we saw so 
often in the other chase. And the fellow will drink when 
he can get an opportunity; your drinking Indian always 
learns to walk with a wider toe than the natural savage, it 
being the gift of a drunkard to straddle, whether of white 
or red skin. ’Tis just the length and breadth too! look 
at it. Sagamore; you measured the prints more than once, 
when we hunted the varmints from Glenn’s to the health- 
springs.” 

Chingachgook complied; and after finishing his short 
examination he arose, and with a quiet demeanor he merely 
pronounced the word — 


234 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


“Magua!” 

“Ay, ’tis a settled thing; here then have passed the 
dark-hair and Magna.” 

“And not Alice?” demanded Heyward. 

“Of her we have not yet seen the signs,” returned the 
scout, looking closely around at the trees, the bushes, and 
the ground. “What have we there? Uncas, bring hither 
the thing you see dangling from yonder thorn-bush.” 

When the Indian had complied, the scout received the 
prize, and, holding it on high, he laughed in his silent but 
heartfelt manner. 

“’Tis the tooting we’pon of the singer! now we shall 
have a trail a priest might travel,” he said. “Uncas, look 
for the marks of a shoe that is long enough to uphold six 
feet two of tottering human flesh. I begin to have some 
hopes of the fellow, since he has given up squalling to fol- 
low some better trade.” 

“At least, he has been faithful to his trust,” said Hey- 
ward; “and Cora and Alice are not without a friend.” 

“Yes,” said Hawkeye, dropping his rifle, and leaning on 
it with an air of visible contempt, “he will do their singing. 
Can he slay a buck for their dinner, journey by the moss on 
the beeches, or cut the throat of a Huron? If not, the flrst 
catbird^ he meets is the cleverest of the two. Well, boy, 
any signs of such a foundation?” 

“Here is something like a footstep of one who has 
worn a shoe; can it be that of our friend?” 

“Touch the leaves lightly, or you’ll disconsart the forma- 
tion. That! that is the print of a foot, but ’tis the dark- 
hair’s; and small it is, too, for one of such a noble height 
and grand appearance. The singer would cover it with his 
heel.” 

“Where! let me look on the footsteps of my child,” said 
Munro, shoving the bushes aside, and bending fondly over 

1 The powers of the American mocking-bird are generally known. 
But the true mocking-bird is not found so far north as the State of 
New York, where it has, however, two substitutes of inferior excel- 
lence: the catbird, so often named by the scout, and the bird vul- 
garly called ground-thresher. Either of these two last birds is superior 
to the nightingale, or the lark, though, in general, the American birds 
are less musical than those of Europe. [Cooper’s note.] 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS.’ 


235 


the nearly obliterated impression. Though the tread, 
which had left the mark, had been light and rapid, it was 
still plainly visible. The aged soldier examined it with 
eyes that grew dim as he gazed; nor did he rise from his 
stooping posture until Heyward saw that he had watered 
the trace of his daughter’s passage with a scalding tear. 
Willing to divert a distress which threatened each moment 
to break through the restraint of appearances by giving the 
veteran something to do, the young man said to the scout, — 

“As we now possess these infallible signs, let us com- 
mence our march. A moment, at such a time, will appear 
an age to the captives.” 

“It is not the swiftest-leaping deer that gives the long- 
est chase,” returned Hawkeye, without moving his eyes 
from the different marks that had come under his view; 
“we know that the rampaging Huron has passed, — and the 
dark-hair, — and the singer, — but where is she of the yellow 
locks and blue eyes? Though little, and far from being as 
bold as her sister, she is fair to the view, and pleasant in 
discourse. Has she no friend, that none care for her?” 

“God forbid she should ever want hundreds! Are we 
not now in her pursuit? For one, I will never cease the 
search till she be found.” 

“In that case we may have to journey by different paths; 
for here she has not passed, light and little as her footstep 
would be.” 

Heyward drew back, all his ardor to proceed seeming to 
vanish on the instant. Without attending to this sudden 
change in the other’s humor, the scout, after musing a 
moment, continued, — 

“There is no woman in this wilderness could leave such 
a print as that, but the dark-hair or her sister. We know 
that the first has been here, but where are the signs of the 
other? Let us push deeper on the trail, and if nothing 
offers, we must go back to the plain and strike another 
scent. Move on, Uncas, and keep your eyes on the dried 
leaves. I will watch the bushes, while your father shall 
run with a low nose to the ground. Move on, friends; the 
sun is getting behind the hills,” 


236 THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 

“Is there nothing that I can do?” demanded the anxious 
Heyward. 

“You!” repeated the scout, who, with his red friends, 
was already advancing in the order he had prescribed; 
“yes, you can keep in our rear, and be careful not to cross 
the trail.” 

Before they had proceeded many rods, the Indians 
stopped and appeared to gaze at some signs on the earth, 
with more than their usual keenness. Both father and son 
spoke quick and loud, now looking at the object of their 
mutual admiration, and now regarding each other with the 
most unequivocal pleasure. 

“They have found the little foot!” exclaimed the scout, 
moving forward, without attending further to his own por- 
tion of the duty. “What have we here? An ambushment 
has been -planted in the spot? No, by the truest rifle on the 
frontiers, here have been them one-sided horses again! 
Now the whole secret is out, and all is plain as the north 
star at midnight. Yes, here they have mounted. There 
the beasts have been bound to a sapling, in waiting; and 
yonder runs the broad path away to the north, in full sweep 
for the Canadas.” 

“But still there are no signs of Alice — of the younger 
Miss Munro,” — said Duncan. 

“Unless the shining bauble Uncas has just lifted from 
the ground should prove one. Pass it this way, lad, that 
we may look at it.” 

Heyward instantly knew it for a trinket that Alice was 
fond of wearing, and which he recollected, with the tena- 
cious memory of a lover, to have seen, on the fatal morning 
of the massacre, dangling from the fair neck of his mistress. 
He seized the highly prized jewel; and as he proclaimed the 
fact, it vanished from the eyes of the wondering scout, who 
in vain looked for it on the ground, long after it was warmly 
pressed against the beating heart of Duncan. 

“Pshaw!” said the disappointed Hawkeye, ceasing to 
rake the leaves with the breech of his rifle; “’tis a certain 
sign of age, when the sight begins to weaken. Such a 
glittering gewgaw, and not to be seen! Well, well, I can 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


237 


squint along a clouded barrel yet, and that is enough to set- 
tle all disputes between me and the Mingoes. I should like 
to find the thing, too, if it were only to carry it to the right 
owner, and that would be bringing the two ends of what I 
call a long trail together, — for by this time, the broad St. 
Lawrence, or, perhaps, the Great Lakes themselves, are 
atwixt us.” 

“So much the more reason why we should not delay our 
march,” returned Heyward; “let us proceed.” 

“Young blood and hot blood, they say, are much the 
same thing. We are not about to start on a squirrel hunt, 
or to drive a deer into the Horican, but to outlie for days 
and nights, and to stretch across a wilderness where the feet 
of men seldom go, and where no bookish knowledge would 
carry you through harmless. An Indian never starts on 
such an expedition without smoking over his council-fire; 
and, though a man of white blood, I honor their customs in 
this particular, seeing that they are deliberate and wise. 
We will, therefore, go back, and light our fire to-night in 
the ruins of the old fort, and in the morning we shall be 
fresh and ready to undertake our work like men, and not 
like babbling women or eager boys.” 

Heyward saw, by the manner of the scout, that alterca- 
tion would be useless. Munro had again sunk into that 
sort of apathy which had beset him since his late over- 
whelming misfortunes, and from which he was apparently 
to be roused only by some new and powerful excitement. 
Making a merit of necessity, the young man took the vet- 
eran by the arm, and followed in the footsteps of the In- 
dians and the scout, who had already begun to retrace the 
path which conducted them to the plain. 


238 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


CHAPTER XIX 

Salar. Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt not take hia flesh: 
what’s that good for? 

Shy, To bait fish withal: if it will fed nothing else, it will fed 
my revenge. —Merchant of Venice. 

The shades of evening had come to increase the dreari- 
ness of the place, when the party entered the ruins of 
William Henry. The scout and his companions immedi- 
ately made their preparations to pass the night there, but 
with an earnestness and sobriety of demeanor that betrayed 
how much the unusual horrors they had just witnessed 
worked on even their practiced feelings. A few fragments 
of rafters were reared against a blackened wall; and when 
Uncas had covered them slightly with brush, the temporary 
accommodations were deemed sufficient. The young In- 
dian pointed toward his rude hut, when his labor was 
ended; and Heyward, who understood the meaning of the 
silent gesture, gently urged Munro to enter. Leaving the 
bereaved old man alone with his sorrows, Duncan immedi- 
ately returned into the open air, too much excited himself 
to seek the repose he had recommended to his veteran 
friend. 

While Hawkeye and the Indians lighted their fire and 
took their evening’s repast, a frugal meal of dried bear’s 
meat, the young man paid a visit to that curtain of the di- 
lapidated fort which looked out on the sheet of the Horican. 
The wind had fallen, and the waves were already rolling on 
the sandy beach beneath him, in a more regular and tem- 
pered succession. The clouds, as if tired of their furious 
chase, were breaking asunder, the heavier volumes gather- 
ing in black masses about the horizon, while the lighter 
scud still hurried above the water, or eddied among the 
tops of the mountains, like broken flights of birds hover- 
ing around their roosts. Here and there a red and fiery 
star struggled through the drifting vapor, furnishing a 
lurid gleam of brightness to the dull aspect of the heavens. 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


239 


Within the bosom of the encircling hills an impenetrable 
darkness had already settled; and the plain lay like a vast 
and deserted charnel-house, without omen or whisper to 
disturb the slumbers of its numerous and hapless tenants. 

Of this scene, so chillingly in accordance with the past, 
Duncan stood for many minutes a rapt observer. His eyes 
wandered from the bosom of the mound, where the foresters 
were seated around their glimmering fire, to the fainter 
light which still lingered in the skies, and then rested long 
and anxiously on the embodied gloom which lay like a 
dreary void on that side of him where the dead reposed. 
He soon fancied that inexplicable sounds arose from the 
place, though so indistinct and stolen as to render not only 
their nature but even their existence uncertain. Ashamed 
of his apprehensions, the young man turned toward the 
water, and strove to divert his attention to the mimic stars 
that dimly glimmered on its moving surface. Still, his 
too conscious ears performed their ungrateful duty, as if 
to warn him of some lurking danger. At length a swift 
trampling seemed quite audibly to rush athwart the dark- 
ness. Unable any longer to quiet his uneasiness, Duncan 
spoke in a low voice to the scout, requesting him to ascend 
the mound to the place where he stood. Hawkeye threw 
his rifie across an arm, and complied, but with an air so 
unmoved and calm as to prove how much he counted on 
the security of their position. 

“Listen!” said Duncan, when the other placed himself 
deliberately at his elbow: “there are suppressed noises on 
the plain which may show that Montcalm has not yet en- 
tirely deserted his conquest.” 

“Then ears are better than eyes,” said the undisturbed 
scout, who, having just deposited a portion of a bear be- 
tween his grinders, spoke thick and slow, like one whose 
mouth was doubly occupied. “I myself saw him caged in 
Ty,^ with all his host; for your Drenchers, when they have 
done a clever thing, like to get back, and have a dance, or a 
merry-making, with the women over their success.” 

“I know not. An Indian seldom sleeps in war, and 


1 Ticonderoga. 


240 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS 


plunder may keep a Huron here after his tribe has departed. 
It would be well to extinguish the fire, and have a watch 
— listen! you hear the noise I mean!” 

“An Indian more rarely lurks about the graves. Though 
ready to slay, and not over-regardful of the means, he is 
commonly content with the scalp, unless when blood is hot, 
and temper up; but after the spirit is once fairly gone, he 
forgets his enmity, and is willing to let the dead find their 
natural rest. Speaking of spirits, major, are you of opinion 
that the heaven of a redskin and of us whites will be one 
and the same?” 

“No doubt — no doubt. I thought I heard it again! or 
was it the rustling of the leaves in the top of the beech?” 

“For my own part,” continued Hawkeye, turning his 
face, for a moment, in the direction indicated by Heyward, 
but with a vacant and careless manner, “I believe that par- 
adise is ordained for happiness; and that men will be in- 
dulged in it according to their dispositions and gifts. I 
therefore judge that a redskin is not far from the truth 
when he believes he is to find them glorious hunting- 
grounds of which his traditions tell; nor, for that matter, 
do I think it would be any disparagement to a man without 
a cross to pass his time — ” 

“You hear it again?” interrupted Duncan. 

“Ay, ay; when food is scarce, and when food is plenty, 
a wolf grows bold,” said the unmoved scout. “There would 
be picking, too, among the skins of the devils, if there 
was light and time for the sport. But, concerning the life 
that is to come, major, — I have heard preachers say, in the 
settlements, that heaven was a place of rest. Now men’s 
minds differ as to their ideas of enjoyment. For myself, 
and I say it with reverence to the ordering of Providence, it 
would be no great indulgence to be kept shut up in those 
mansions of which they preach, having a natural longing 
for motion and the chase.” 

Duncan, who was now made to understand the nature of 
the noises he had heard, answered with more attention to 
the subject which the humor of the scout had chosen for 
discussion, by saying, — 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 241 

“It is difficult to account for the feelings that may at- 
tend the last great change.” 

“It would be a change, indeed, for a man who has passed 
his days in the open air,” returned the single-minded scout; 
“and who has so often broken his fast on the head-waters 
of the Hudson, to sleep within sound of the roaring Mo- 
hawk. But it is a comfort to know we serve a merciful 
Master, though we do it each after his fashion, and with 
great tracts of wilderness atween us — What goes there?” 

“Is it not the rushing of the wolves you have men- 
tioned?” 

Hawkeye slowly shook his head, and beckoned for Dun- 
can to follow him to a spot to which the glare from the fire 
did not extend. When he had taken this precaution, the 
scout placed himself in an attitude of intense attention, and 
listened long and keenly for a repetition of the low sound 
that had so unexpectedly startled him. His vigilance, how- 
ever, seemed exercised in vain; for, after a fruitless pause, 
he whispered to Duncan, — 

“We must give a call to Uncas. The boy has Indian 
senses, and may hear what is hid from us; for, being a 
white-skin, I will not deny my nature.” 

The young Mohican, who was conversing in a low voice 
with his father, started as he heard the moaning of an owl; 
and, springing on his feet, he looked toward the black 
mounds, as if seeking the place whence the sounds pro- 
ceeded. The scout repeated the call, and in a few moments 
Duncan saw the figure of Uncas stealing cautiously along 
the rampart to the spot where they stood. 

Hawkeye explained his wishes in a very few words, which 
were spoken in the Delaware tongue. So soon as Uncas 
was in possession of the reason why he was summoned, 
he threw himself fiat on the turf; where, to the eyes of 
Duncan, he appeared to lie quiet and motionless. Sur- 
prised at the immovable attitude of the young warrior, and 
curious to observe the manner in which he employed his 
faculties to obtain the desired information, Heyward ad- 
vanced a few steps, and bent over the dark object on which 
he had kept his eyes riveted. Then it was he discovered 
16 


242 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


that the form of Uncas had vanished, and that he beheld 
only the dark outline of an inequality in the embankment. 

“What has become of the Mohican?” he demanded of 
the scout, stepping back in amazement; “it was here that I 
saw him fall, and I could have sworn that here he yet 
remained.” 

“Hist! speak lower; for we know not what ears are 
open, and the Mingoes are a quick-witted breed. As for 
Uncas he is out on the plain, and the Maquas, if any such 
are about us, will find their equal.” 

“You think that Montcalm has not called off all his 
Indians? Let us give the alarm to our companions, that 
we may stand to our arms. Here are five of us, who are 
not unused to meet an enemy.” 

“Not a word to either, as you value life. Look at the 
Sagamore, how like a grand Indian chief he sits by the fire. 
If there are any skulkers out in the darkness, they will 
never discover by his countenance that we suspect danger 
at hand.” 

“But they may discover him, and it will prove his death. 
His person can be too plainly seen by the light of that fire, 
and he will become the first and most certain victim.” 

“It is undeniable that now you speak the truth,” re- 
turned the scout, betraying more anxiety than was usual; 
“yet what can be done? A single suspicious look might 
bring on an attack before we are ready to receive it. He 
knows, by the call I gave to Uncas, that we have struck a 
scent: I will tell him that we are on the trail of the 
Mingoes; his Indian nature will teach him how to act.” 

The scout applied his fingers to his mouth, and raised a 
low hissing sound that caused Duncan, at first, to start 
aside, believing that he heard a serpent. The head of 
Chingachgook was resting on a hand, as he sat musing by 
himself; but the moment he heard the warning of the ani- 
mal whose name he bore, it arose to an upright position 
and his dark eyes glanced swiftly and keenly on every side 
of him. With this sudden and perhaps involuntary move- 
ment, every appearance of surprise or alarm ended. His 
rifle lay untouched, and apparently unnoticed, within reach 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


243 


of his hand. The tomahawk that he had loosened in his 
belt for the sake of ease was even suffered to fall from its 
usual situation to the ground, and his form seemed to sink, 
like that of a man whose nerves and sinews were suffered 
to relax for the purpose of rest. Cunningly resuming his 
former position, though with a change of hands, as if the 
movement had been made merely to relieve the limb, the 
native awaited the result with a calmness and fortitude that 
none but an Indian warrior would have known how to 
exercise. 

But Heyward saw that while to a less instructed eye 
the Mohican chief appeared to slumber, his nostrils were 
expanded, his head was turned a little to one side, as if to 
assist the organs of hearing, and that his quick and rapid 
glances ran incessantly over every object within the power 
of his vision. 

“See the noble fellow!” whispered Hawkeye, pressing 
the arm of Heyward; “he knows that a look or a motion 
might disconsart our schemes, and put us at the mercy of 
them imps — ” 

He was interrupted by the flash and report of a rifle. 
The air was fllled with sparks of Are around that spot where 
the eyes of Heyward were still fastened with admiration and 
wonder. A second look told him that Chingachgook had 
disappeared in the confusion. In the meantime the scout 
had thrown forward his rifle, like one prepared for service, 
and awaited impatiently the moment when an enemy might 
rise to view. But with the solitary and fruitless attempt 
made on the life of Chingachgook the attack appeared to 
have terminated. Once or twice the listeners thought they 
could distinguish the distant rustling of bushes, as bodies 
of some unknown description rushed through them; nor 
was it long before Hawkeye pointed out the “scampering 
of the wolves,” as they fled precipitately before the passage 
of some intruder on their proper domains. After an im- 
patient and breathless pause, a plunge was heard in the 
water, and it was immediately followed by the report of 
another rifle. 

“There goes Uncas!” said the scout; “the boy bears a 


244 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


smart piece! I know its crack as well as a father knows 
the language of his child, for I carried the gun myself until 
a better offered!” 

“What can this mean?” demanded Duncan; “we are 
watched, and, as it would seem, marked for destruc- 
tion.” 

“Yonder scatered brand can witness that no good was 
intended, and this Indian will testify that no harm has been 
done,” returned the scout, dropping his rifle across his arm 
again, and following Chingachgook, who just then reap- 
peared within the circle of light, into the bosom of the 
works. “How is it. Sagamore? Are the Mingoes upon 
us in earnest, or is it only one of those reptiles who hang 
upon the skirts of a war party to scalp the dead, go in, and 
make their boast among the squaws of the valiant deeds 
done on the pale faces?” 

Chingachgook very quietly resumed his seat; nor did he 
make any reply until after he had examined the firebrand 
which had been struck by the bullet that had nearly proved 
fatal to himself; after which he was content to reply, 
holding a single finger up to view, with the English mono- 
syllable, — 

“One.” 

“I thought as much,” returned Hawkeye, seating him- 
self; “and as he had got the cover of the lake afore UncarS 
pulled upon him, it is more than probable the knave will 
sing his lies about some great ambushment, in which he was 
outlying on the trail of two Mohicans and a white hunter — 
for the officers can be considered as little better than idlers 
in such a scrimmage. Well, let him — let him. There 
are always some honest men in every nation, though heaven 
knows, too, that they are scarce among the Maquas, to look 
down an upstart when he brags ag’in the face of reason. 
The varlet sent his lead within whistle of your ears, Saga- 
more.” 

Chingachgook turned a calm and incurious eye toward 
the place where the ball had struck, and then resumed his 
former attitude with a composure that could not be dis- 
turbed by so trifling an incident. Just then Uncas glided 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


245 


into the circle and seated himself at the fire, with the 
same appearance of indifference as was maintained by his 
father. 

Of these several movements Heyward was a deeply inter- 
ested and wondering observer. It appeared to him as 
though the foresters had some secret means of intelligence 
which had escaped the vigilance of his own faculties. In 
place of that eager and garrulous narration with which a 
white youth w'ould have endeavored to communicate, and 
perhaps exaggerate, that which had passed out in the dark- 
ness of the plain, the young warrior was seemingly content 
to let his deeds speak for themselves. It was, in fact, 
neither the moment nor the occasion for an Indian to boast 
of his exploits; and it is probable that had Heyward neg- 
lected to inquire, not another syllable would, just then, 
have been uttered on the subject. 

“What has become of our enemy, Uncas?” demanded 
Duncan; “we heard your rifle, and hoped you had not fired 
in vain.” 

The young chief removed a fold of his hunting-shirt, and 
quietly exposed the fatal tuft of hair which he bore as the 
symbol of victory. Chingachgook laid his hand on the 
scalp, and considered it for a moment with deep attention.. 
Then dropping it, with disgust depicted in his strong fea- 
tures, he ejaculated, — 

“Oneida!” 

“Oneida!” repeated the scout, who was fast losing his 
interest in the scene, in an apathy nearly assimilated to 
that of his red associates, but who now advanced with 
uncommon earnestness to regard the bloody badge. “By 
the Lord, if the Oneidas are outlying upon the trail, we 
shall be flanked by devils on every side of us! Now, to 
white eyes there is no difference betw^een this bit of skin 
and that of any other Indian, and yet the Sagamore declares 
it came from the poll of a Mingo; nay, he even names the 
tribe of the poor devil with as much ease as if the scalp was 
the leaf of a book, and each hair a letter. What right have 
Christian whites to boast of their learning, when a savage 
can read a language that would prove too much for the 


246 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


wisest of them all? What say you, lad; of what people was 
the knave?” 

Uncas raised his eyes to the face of the scout, and an- 
swered, in his soft voice, — 

“Oneida.” 

“Oneida, again! when one Indian makes a declaration it 
is commonly true; but when he is supported by his people, 
set it down as gospel!” 

“The poor fellow has mistaken us for French,” said 
Heyward; “or he would not have attempted the life of a 
friend.” 

“He mistake a Mohican in his paint for a Huron! You 
would be as likely to mistake the white-coated grenadiers 
of Montcalm for the scarlet jackets of the ‘Royal Ameri- 
cans.’ ” returned the scout. “No, no, the sarpent knew 
his errand; nor was there any great mistake in the mat- 
ter, for there is but little love atween a Delaware and a 
Mingo, let their tribes go out to fight for whom they may, 
in a white quarrel. For that matter, though the Oneidas 
do serve his sacred majesty, who is my own sovereign lord 
and master, I should not have deliberated long about letting 
off ‘Killdeer’ at the imp myself, had luck thrown him in 
my way.” 

“That would have been an abuse of our treaties, and un- 
worthy of your character.” 

“When a man consorts much with a people,” continued 
Hawkeye, “if they are honest and he no knave, love will 
grow up atwixt them. It is true that white cunning has 
managed to throw the tribes into great confusion as respects 
friends and enemies; so that the Hurons and the Oneidas, 
who speak the same tongue, or what may be called the same, 
take each other’s scalps, and the Delawares are divided 
among themselves; a few hanging about their great council- 
fire on their own river, and fighting on the same side with 
the Mingoes, while the greater part are in the Canadas, out 
of natural enmity to the Maquas— thus throwing every- 
thing into disorder, and destroying all the harmony of war- 
fare. Yet a red natur’ is not likely to alter with every 
shift of policy; so that the love atwixt a Mohican and a 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 247 

Mingo is much like the regard between a white man and a 
sarpent.” - -■ 

“I regret to hear it; for I had believed those natives who 
dwelt within our boundaries had found us too just and 
liberal not to identify themselves fully with our quarrels.” 

“Why, I believe it is natur’ to give a preference to one’s 
own quarrels before those of strangers. Now, for myself, I 
do love justice; and therefore I will not say I hate a Mingo, 
for that may be unsuitable to my color and my religion, 
though I will just repeat, it may have been owing to the 
night that ‘Killdeer’ had no hand in the death of this 
skulking Oneida.” 

Then, as if satisfied with the force of his own reasons, 
whatever might be their effect on the opinions of the other 
disputant, the honest but implacable woodsman turned 
from the fire, content to let the controversy slumber. Hey- 
ward withdrew to the rampart, too uneasy and too little 
accustomed to the warfare of the woods to remain at ease 
under the possibility of such insidious attacks. Not so, 
however, with the scout and the Mohicans. Those acute 
and long-practiced senses whose powers so often exceed the 
limits of all ordinary credulity, after having detected the 
danger, had enabled them to ascertain its magnitude and 
duration. Not one of the three appeared in the least to 
doubt their perfect security, as was indicated by the prep- 
arations that were soon made to sit in council over their 
future proceedings. 

The confusion of nations, and even of tribes, to which 
Hawkeye alluded, existed at that period in the fullest force. 
The great tie of language, and, of course, of a common 
origin, was severed in many places; and it was one of its 
consequences that the Delaware and the Mingo (as the 
people of the Six Nations were called) were found fighting 
in the same ranks, while the latter sought the scalp of the 
Huron, though believed to be the root of his own stock. 
The Delawares were even divided among themselves. 
Though love for the soil which had belonged to his ances- 
tors kept the Sagamore of the Mohicans with a small band 
of followers who were serving at Edward, under the banners 


248 


THE LAST- OF THE MOHICANS. 


of the English king, by far the largest portion of his nation 
were known to be in the field as allies of Montcalm. The 
reader probably knows, if enough has not already been 
gleaned from this narrative,- that the Delaware, or Lenape, 
claimed to be the progenitors of that numerous people who 
once were masters of most of the Eastern and Northern 
States of America, of whom the community of the Mohicans 
was an ancient and highly honored member. 

It was, of course, with a perfect understanding of the 
minute and intricate interest which had armed friend 
against friend, and brought natural enemies to combat by 
each other’s side, that the scout and his companions now 
disposed themselves to deliberate on the measures that were 
to govern their future movements, amid so many jarring 
and savage races of men. Duncan knew enough of Indian 
customs to understand the reason that the fire was replen- 
ished, and why the warriors, not excepting Hawkeye, took 
their seats within the curl of its smoke with so much gravity 
and decorum. Placing himself at an angle of the works, 
where he might be a spectator of the scene within, while 
he kept a watchful eye against any danger from without, 
he awaited the result with as much patience as he could 
summon. 

After a short and impressive pause, Chingachgook lighted 
a pipe whose bowl was curiously carved in one of the soft 
stones of the country and whose stem was a tube of wood, 
and commenced smoking. When he had inhaled enough of 
the fragrance of the soothing weed he passed the instru- 
ment into the hands of the scout. In this manner the pipe 
had made its rounds three several times, amid the most pro- 
found silence, before either of the party opened his lips. 
Then the Sagamore, as the oldest and highest in rank, in a 
few calm and dignified words, proposed the subject for 
deliberation. He was answered by the scout; and Chin- 
gachgook rejoined, when the other objected to his opinions. 
But the youthful Uncas continued a silent and respectful 
listener, until Hawkeye, in complaisance, demanded his 
opinion. Heyward gathered, from the manners of the 
different speakers, that the father and son espoused one side 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


249 


of a disputed question, while the white man maintained the 
other. The contest gradually grew warmer, until it was 
quite evident the feelings of the speakers began to be some- 
what enlisted in the debate. 

Notwithstanding the increasing warmth of the amicable 
contest, the most decorous Christian assembly, not even 
excepting those in which its reverend ministers are col- 
lected, might have learned a wholesome lesson of modera- 
tion from the forbearance and courtesy of the disputants. 
The words of Uncas were received with the same deep 
attention as those which fell from the maturer wisdom of 
his father; and, so far from manifesting any impatience, 
neither spoke in reply until a few moments of silent medi- 
tation were, seemingly, bestowed in deliberating on what 
had already been said. 

The language of the Mohicans was accompanied by ges- 
tures so direct and natural, that Heyward had but little 
difficulty in following the thread of their argument. On 
the other hand, the scout was obscure; because, from the 
lingering pride of color, he rather affected the cold and 
artificial manner which characterizes all classes of Anglo- 
Americans when unexcited. By the frequency with which 
the Indians described the marks of a forest trail, it was 
evident they urged a pursuit by land, while the repeated 
sweep of Hawkeye’s arm toward the Horican denoted that 
he was for a passage across its waters. 

The latter was, to every appearance, fast losing ground, 
and the point was about to be decided against him, when he 
arose to his feet, and shaking off his apathy, he suddenly 
assumed the manner of an Indian, and adopted all the arts 
of native eloquence. Elevating an arm, he pointed out the 
track of the sun, repeating the gesture for every day that 
was necessary to accomp’ish their object. Then he deline- 
ated a long and painful path, amid rocks and water-courses. 
The age and weakness of the slumbering and unconscious 
Munro were indicated by signs too palpable to be mistaken. 
Duncan perceived that even his own powers were spoken 
lightly of, as the scout extended his palm, and mentioned 
him by the appellation of the “Open Hand,” — a name his 


250 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


liberality had purchased of all the friendly tribes. Then 
came a representation of the light and graceful movements 
of a canoe, set in forcible contrast to the tottering steps of 
one enfeebled and tired. He concluded by pointing to the 
scalp of the Oneida, and apparently urging the necessity of 
their departing speedily, and in a manner that should leave 
no trail. 

The Mohicans listened gravely, and with countenances 
that reflected the sentiments of the speaker. Conviction 
gradually wrought its influence, and toward the close of 
Hawkeye’s speech his sentences were accompanied by the 
customary exclamation of commendation. In short, Uncas 
and his father became converts to his way of thinking, 
abandoning their own previously expressed opinions with 
a liberality and candor that, had they been the representa- 
tives of some great and civilized people, would have infalli- 
bly worked their political ruin, by destroying, forever, their 
reputation for consistency. 

The instant the matter in discussion was decided, the 
debate, and everything connected with it, except the result, 
appeared to be forgotten. Hawkeye, without looking round 
to read his triumph in applauding eyes, very composedly 
stretched his tall frame before the dying embers, and closed 
his own organs in sleep. 

Left now in a measure to themselves, the Mohicans, whose 
time had been so much devoted to the interests of others, 
seized the moment to devote some attention to themselves. 
Casting off, at once, the grave and austere demeanor of an 
Indian chief, Chingachgook commenced speaking to his son 
in the soft and playful tones of affection. Uncas gladly met 
the familiar air of his father; and before the hard breathing 
of the scout announced that he slept, a complete change 
was effected in the manner of his two associates. 

It is impossible to describe the music of their language, 
while thus engaged in laughter and endearments, in such a 
way as to render it intelligible to those whose ears have 
never listened to its melody. The compass of their voices, 
particularly that of the youth, was wonderful, — extending 
from the deepest bass to tones that were even feminine in 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


251 


softness. The eyes of the father followed the plastic and 
ingenious movements of the son with open delight, and he 
never failed to smile in reply to the other’s contagious but 
low laughter. While under the influence of these gentle 
and natural feelings, no trace of ferocity was to be seen in 
the softened features of the Sagamore. His flgured panoply 
of death looked more like a disguise assumed in mockery, 
than a flerce annunciation of a desire to carry destruction in 
his footsteps. 

After an hour passed in the indulgence of their better 
feelings, Chingachgook abruptly announced his desire to 
sleep, by wrapping his head in his blanket, and stretching 
his form on the naked earth. The merriment of Uncas 
instantly ceased; and carefully raking the coals in such a 
manner that they should impart their warmth to his father’s 
feet, the youth sought his own pillow among the ruins of 
the place. 

Imbibing renewed confidence from the security of these 
experienced foresters, Heyward soon imitated their example; 
and long before the night had turned, they who lay in the 
bosom of the ruined work seemed to slumber as heavily as 
the unconscious multitude whose bones were already begin- 
ning to bleach on the surrounding plain. 


CHAPTER XX 

Land of Albania! let me bend mine eyes 
On thee, thou rugged nurse of savage men! 

— Childe Harold. 

The heavens were still studded with stars when Hawkeye 
came to arouse the sleepers. Casting aside their cloaks, 
Munro and Heyward were on their feet while the woodsman 
was still making his low calls, at the entrance of the rude 
shelter where they had passed the night. When they issued 
from beneath its concealment, they found the scout await- 
ing their appearance nigh by, and the only salutation be- 
tween them was the significant gesture for silence made 
by their sagacious leader. 


252 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


“Think over your prayers,” he whispered, as they ap- 
proached him; “for He to whom you make them knows 
all tongues; that of the heart as well as those of the mouth. 
But speak not a syllable; it is rare for a white voice to pitch 
itself properly in the woods, as we have seen by the exam- 
ple of that miserable devil, the singer. Come,” he con- 
tinued, turning toward a curtain of the works; “let us 
get into the ditch on this side; and be regardful to step on 
the stones and fragments of wood as you go.” 

His companions complied, though to two of them the rea- 
sons of this extraordinary precaution were yet a mystery. 
When they were in the low cavity that surrounded the 
earthen fort on three sides, they found the passage nearly 
choked by the ruins. With care and patience, however, they 
succeeded in clambering after the scout, until they reached 
the sandy shore of the Horican. 

“That’s a trail that nothing but a nose can follow,” said 
the satisfied scout, looking back along their difficult way; 
“grass is a treacherous carpet for a fiying party to tread on, 
but wood and stone take no print from a moccasin. Had 
you worn your armed boots, there might, indeed, have been 
something to fear; but with the deer-skin suitably prepared, 
a man may trust himself, generally, on rocks with safety. 
Shove in the canoe nigher to the land, Uncas; this sand will 
take a stamp as easily as the butter of the Jarmans^ on 
the Mohawk. Softly, lad, softly; it must not touch the 
beach, or the knaves will know by what road we have left 
the place.” 

The young man observed the precaution; and the scout, 
laying a board from the ruins to the canoe, made a sign for 
the two officers to enter. When this was done, everything 
was studiously restored to its former disorder; and then 
Hawkeye succeeded in reaching his little birchen vessel, 
without leaving behind him any of those marks which he 
appeared so much to dread. Heyward was silent until the 
Indians had cautiously paddled the canoe some distance 
from the fort, and within the broad and dark shadow that 


^ Germaus. 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 2oo 

fell from the eastern mountain on the glassy surface of the 
lake; then he demanded, — 

“What need have we for this stolen and hurried depar- 
ture?” 

“If the blood of an Oneida could stain such a sheet of 
pure water as this we float on,” returned the scout, “your 
two eyes would answer your own question. Have you for- 
gotten the skulking reptile that Uncas slew?” 

“By no means. But he was said to be alone, and dead 
men give no cause for fear,” 

“Ay, he was alone in his deviltry! but an Indian whose 
tribe counts so many warriors need seldom fear his blood 
will run, without the death-shriek coming speedily from 
some of his enemies.” 

“But our presence — the authority of Colonel Munro — 
would prove a sufficient protection against the anger of our 
allies, especially in a case where the wretch so well merited 
his fate. I trust in Heaven you have not deviated a single 
foot from the direct line of our course, with so slight a 
reason!” 

“Do you think the bullet of that varlet’s rifle would have 
turned aside, though his sacred majesty the king had stood 
in its path?” returned the stubborn scout. “Why did not 
the grand Frencher, he who is captain-general of the Can- 
adas, bury the tomahawks of the Hurons, if a word from a 
white can work so strongly on the natur’ of an Indian?” 

The reply of Heyward was interrupted by a groan from 
Munro; but after he had paused a moment, in deference to 
the sorrow of his aged friend, he resumed the subject. 

“The Marquis of Montcalm can only settle that error 
with his God,” said the young man, solemnly. 

“Ay, ay; now there is reason in your words, for they 
are bottomed on religion and honesty. There is a vast 
difference between throwing a regiment of white coats 
atwixt the tribes and the prisoners, and coaxing an angry 
savage to forget he carries a knife and a rifle, with words 
that must begin with calling him your son. No, no,” con- 
tinued the scout, looking back at the dim shore of William 
Henry, which was now fast receding, and laughing in his 


254 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


own silent but heartfelt manner; “I have put a trail of 
water atween us; and unless the imps can make friends 
with the fishes, and hear who has paddled across their basin 
this fine morning, we shall throw the length of the Horican 
behind us before they have made up their minds which path 
to take.” 

“With foes in front and foes in our rear, our journey is 
like to be one of danger.” 

“Danger!” repeated Hawkeye, calmly; “no, not abso- 
lutely of danger; for, with vigilant ears and quick eyes, we 
can manage to keep a few hours ahead of the knaves; or, 
if we must try the rifie, there are three of us who under- 
stand its gifts as well as any you can name on the borders. 
No, not of danger; but that we shall have what you may 
call a brisk push of it is probable; and it may happen, a 
brush, a scrimmage, or some such divarsion, but always 
where covers are good and ammunition abundant.” 

It is possible that Heyward’s estimate of danger differed 
in some degree from that of the scout, for, instead of reply- 
ing, he now sat in silence, while the canoe glided over sev- 
eral miles of water. Just as the day dawned, they entered 
the narrows of the lake,^ and stole swiftly and cautiously 
among their numberless little islands. It was by this road 
that Montcalm had retired with his army; and the adven- 
turers knew not but he had left some of his Indians in 
ambush, to protect the rear of his forces, and collect the 
stragglers. They therefore approached the passage with 
the customary silence of their guarded habits. 

1 The beauties of Lake George are well known to every American 
tourist. In the height of the mountains which surround it, and in 
artificial accessories, it is inferior to the finest of the Swiss and Italian 
lakes, while in outline and purity of water it is fully their equal and 
in the number and disposition of its isles and islets much superior to 
them all together. There are said to be some hundreds of islands in 
a sheet of water less than thirty miles long. The narrows which con- 
nect what may be called, in truth, two lakes, are crowded with islands to 
such a degree as to leave passages between them frequently of only a few 
feet in width. The lake itself varies in breadth from one to three miles. 

The State of New York is remarkable for the number and beauty of 
Its lakes. One of Its frontiers lies on the vast sheet of Ontario, while 
Champlain stretches nearly a hundred miles along another. Oneida, 
Cayuga, Canandaigua, Seneda, and George are all lakes of thirty 
miles in length, while those of a size smaller are without number. 
On most of these lakes there are now beautiful villages, and on many 
of them steamboats. [Cooper’s note.] 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


255 


Chingachgook laid aside his paddle; while Uncas and 
the scout urged the light vessel through crooked and intri- 
cate channels, where every foot that they advanced exposed 
them to the danger of some sudden rising on their progress. 
The eyes of the Sagamore moved warily from islet to islet 
and copse to copse, as the canoe proceeded; and when a 
clearer sheet of water permitted, his keen vision was bent 
along the bald rocks and impending forests that frowned 
upon the narrow strait. 

Heyward, who was a doubly interested spectator, as well 
from the beauties of the place as from the apprehension 
natural to his situation, was just believing that he had per- 
mitted the latter to be excited without sufiBcient reason, 
when the paddle ceased moving, in obedience to a signal 
from Chingachgook. 

“Hugh!” exclaimed Uncas, nearly at the moment that 
the light tap his father had made on the side of the canoe 
notified them of the vicinity of danger. 

“What now?” asked the scout; “the lake is as smooth 
as if the winds had never blown, and I can see along its 
sheet for miles; there is not so much as the black head of 
a loon dotting the water.” 

The Indian gravely raised his paddle, and pointed in the 
direction in which his own steady look was riveted. Dun- 
can’s eyes followed the motion. A few rods in their front 
lay another of the low wooded islets, but it appeared as 
calm and peaceful as if its solitude had never been dis- 
turbed by the foot of man. 

“I see nothing,” he said, “but land and water; and a 
lovely scene it is.” 

“Hist!” interrupted the scout. “Ay, Sagamore, there 
is always a reason for what you do. ’Tis but a shade, and 
yet it is not natural. You see the mist, major, that is 
rising above the island; you can’t call it a fog, for it is 
more like a streak of thin cloud — ” 

“It is vapor from the water.” 

“That a child could tell. But what is the edging of 
blacker smoke that hangs along its lower side, and which 
you may trace down into the thicket of hazel? ’Tis from a 


^5G THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 

fire; but one that, in my judgment, has been suffered to 
burn low.” 

“Let us then push for the place, and relieve our doubts,” 
said the impatient Duncan; “the party must be small that 
can lie on such a bit of land.” 

‘Tf you judge of Indian cunning by the rules you find 
in books, or by white sagacity, they will lead you astray, if 
not to your death,” returned Hawkeye, examining the signs 
of the place with that acuteness which distinguished him. 
“If I may be permitted to speak in this matter, it will be to 
say that we have but two things to choose between: the 
one is to return, and give up all thoughts of following the 
Hurons — ” 

“Never!” exclaimed Heyward, in a voice far too loud 
for their circumstances. 

“Well, well,” continued Hawkeye, making a hasty sign 
to repress his impatience; “I am much of your mind 
myself; though I thought it becoming my experience to tell 
the whole. We must then make a push, and if the Indians 
or Frenchers are in the narrows, run the gauntlet through 
these toppling mountains. Is there reason in my words. 
Sagamore?” 

The Indian made no other answer than by dropping his 
paddle into the water, and urging forward the canoe. As 
he held the office of directing its course, his resolution was 
sufficiently indicated by the movement. The whole party 
now plied their paddles vigorously, and in a very few 
moments they had reached a point whence they might com- 
mand an entire view of the northern shore of the island, the 
side that had hitherto been concealed. 

“There they are, by all the truth of signs,” whispered 
the scout; “two canoes and a smoke. The knaves haven’t 
yet got their eyes out of the mist, or we should hear the 
accursed whoop. Together, friend! we are leaving them, 
and are already nearly out of whistle of a bullet.” 

The well-known crack of a rifle, whose ball came skipping 
along the placid surface of the strait, and a shrill yell from 
the island, interrupted his speech and announced that their 
passage was discovered. In another instant several savages 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


257 


were seen rushing into the canoes, which were soon dancing 
over the water in pursuit. These fearful precursors of a 
coming struggle produced no change in the countenances 
and movements of his three guides, so far as Duncan could 
discover, except that the strokes of their paddles were longer 
and more in unison, and caused the little hark to spring 
forward like a creature possessing life and volition. 

“Hold them there. Sagamore,” said Hawkeye, looking 
coolly backward over his left shoulder, while he still plied 
his paddle; “keep them just there. Them Hurons have 
never a piece in their nation that will execute at this dis- 
tance; but ‘Killdeer’ has a barrel on which a man may cal- 
culate.” 

The scout having ascertained that the Mohicans were 
sufficient of themselves to maintain the requisite distance, 
deliberately laid aside his paddle, and raised the fatal rifle. 
Three several times he brought the piece to his shoulder, 
and when his companions were expecting its report, he as 
often lowered it to request the Indians would permit their 
enemies to approach a little nigher. At length his accurate 
and fastidious eye seemed satisfied, and throwing out his 
left arm on the barrel, he was slowly elevating the muzzle, 
when an exclamation from Uncas, who sat in the bow, once 
more caused him to suspend the shot. 

“What now, lad?” demanded Hawkeye; “you saved a 
Huron from the death-shriek by that word; have you reason 
for what you do?” 

Uncas pointed toward the rocky shore a little in their 
front, whence another war-canoe was darting directly across 
their course. It was too obvious now that their situation 
was imminently perilous to need the aid of language to con- 
firm it. The scout laid aside his rifle and resumed the pad- 
dle, while Chingachgook inclined the bows of the canoe 
a little toward the western shore, in order to increase the 
distance between them and this new enemy. In the 
meantime they were reminded of the presence of those who 
pressed upon their rear, by wild and exulting shouts. The 
stirring scene awakened even Munro from his apathy. 

“Let us make for the rocks on the main,” he said, with 
17 


258 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


the mien of a tried soldier, “and give battle to the savages. 
God forbid that I, or those attached to me and mine, should 
ever trust again to the faith of any servant of the 
Louis’s!” 

“He who wishes to prosper in Indian warfare,” returned 
the scout, “must not be too proud to learn from the wit of 
a native. Lay her more along the land, Sagamore; we are 
doubling on the varlets, and perhaps they may try to strike 
^ our trail on the long calculation.” 

Hawkeye was not mistaken; for when the Hurons found 
their course was likely to throw them behind their chase, 
they rendered it less direct, until, by gradually bearing more 
and more obliquely, the two canoes were, ere long, gliding 
on parallel lines, within two hundred yards of each other. 
It now became entirely a trial of speed. So rapid was the 
progress of the light vessels that the lake curled in their 
front, in miniature waves, and their motion became undu- 
lating by its own velocity. It was, perhaps, owing to this 
circumstance, in addition to the necessity of keeping every 
hand employed at the paddles, that the Hurons had not 
immediate recourse to their fire-arms. The exertions of the 
fugitives were too severe to continue long, and the pursuers 
had the advantage of numbers. Duncan observed, with 
uneasiness, that the scout began to look anxiously about 
him, as if searching for some further means of assisting 
their flight. 

“Edge her a little more from the sun. Sagamore,” said 
the stubborn woodsman; “I see the knaves are sparing a 
man to the rifle. A single broken bone might lose us our 
scalps. Edge more from the sun and we will put the island 
between us.” 

The expedient was not without its use. A long, low 
island lay at a little distance before them, and as they 
closed with it, the chasing canoe was compelled to take a 
side opposite to that on which the pursued passed. The 
scout and his companions did not neglect this advantage, 
but the instant they were hid from observation by the 
bushes, they redoubled efforts that before had seemed pro- 
digious. The two canoes came round the last low point. 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


259 


like two coursers at the top of their speed, the fugitives 
taking the lead. This change had brought them nigher to 
each other, however, while it altered their relative posi- 
tions. 

“You showed knowledge in the shaping of birchen bark, 
Uncas, when you chose this from among the Huron canoes," 
said the scout, smiling, apparently more in satisfaction of 
their superiority in the race than from that prospect of 
final escape which now began to open a little upon them. 
“The imps have put all their strength again at the paddles, 
and we are to struggle for our scalps with bits of fiattened 
wood, instead of clouded barrels and true eyes. A long 
stroke and together, friends." 

“They are preparing for a shot," said Heyward; “and as 
we are in a line with them, it can scarcely fail." 

“Get you then into the bottom of the canoe," returned 
the scout; “you and the colonel; it will be so much taken 
from the size of the mark." 

Heyward smiled, as he answered, — 

“It would be but an ill example for the highest in rank 
to dodge, while the warriors were under fire!" 

“Lord! Lord! That is now a white man’s courage!” 
exclaimed the scout; “and like too many of his notions, 
not to be maintained by reason. Do you think the Saga- 
more, or Uncas, or even I, who am a man without a cross, 
would deliberate about finding a cover in the scrimmage, 
when an open body would do no good? For what have 
the Frenchers reared up their Quebec, if fighting is always 
to be done in the clearings?” 

“All that you say is very true, my friend," replied Hey- 
ward; “still, our customs must prevent us from doing as 
you wish." 

A volley from the Hurons interrupted the discourse, and 
as the bullets whistled about them, Duncan saw the head 
of Uncas turned, looking back at himself and Munro. 
Notwithstanding the nearness of the enemy, and his own 
great personal danger, the countenance of the young war- 
rior expressed no other emotion, as the former was com- 
pelled to think, than amazement at finding men willing to 


260 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


encounter so useless an exposure. Chingachgook was 
probably better acquainted witb the notions of white men, 
for he did not even cast a glance aside from the riveted look 
his eye maintained on the object by which he governed their 
course. A ball soon struck the light and polished paddle 
from the hands of the chief, and drove it through the air, 
far in the advance. A shout arose from the Hurons, who 
seized the opportunity to fire another volley. Uncas de- 
scribed an arc in the water with his own blade, and as the 
canoe passed swiftly on, Chingachgook recovered his pad- 
dle, and fiourishing it on high, he gave the war-whoop of 
the Mohicans, and then lent his strength and skill again 
to the important task. 

The clamorous sounds of “Le Gros Serpent!” “La 
Longue Carabine!” “Le Cerf Agile!” burst at once from 
the canoes behind, and seemed to give new zeal to the pur- 
suers. The scout seized “Killdeer” in his left hand, and, 
elevating it above his head, he shook it in triumph at his 
enemies. The savages answered the insult with a yell, and 
immediately another volley succeeded. The bullets pat- 
tered along the lake, and one even pierced the bark of their 
little vessel. No perceptible emotion could be discovered 
in the Mohicans during this critical moment, their rigid 
features expressing neither hope nor alarm; but the scout 
again turned his head, and, laughing in his own silent man- 
ner, he said to Heyward, — 

“The knaves love to hear the sounds of their pieces; 
but the eye is not to be found among the Mingoes that can 
calculate a true range in a dancing canoe! You see the 
dumb devils have taken off a man to charge, and by the 
smallest measurement that can be allowed, we move three 
feet to their two!” 

Duncan, who was not altogether as easy under this nice 
estimate of distances as his companions, was glad to find, 
however, that, owing to their superior dexterity, and the 
diversion among their enemies, they were very sensibly ob- 
taining the advantage. The Hurons soon fired again, and 
a bullet struck the blade of Hawkeye’s paddle without 
injury. 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


261 


“That will do,” said the scout, examining the slight 
indentation with a curious eye; “it would not have cut the 
skin of an infant, much less of men who, like us, have 
been blown upon by the heavens in their anger. Now, 
major, if you will try to use this piece of flattened wood, 
I’ll let ‘Killdeer’ take a part in the conversation.” 

Heyward seized the paddle, and applied himself to the 
work with an eagerness that supplied the place of skill, 
while Hawkeye was engaged in inspecting the priming of 
his rifle. The latter then took a swift aim, and fired. The 
Huron in the bows of the leading canoe had risen with a 
similar object, and he now fell backward, suffering his gun 
to escape from his hands into the water. In an instant, 
however, he recovered his feet, though his gestures were 
wild and bewildered. At the same moment his companions 
suspended their efforts, and the chasing canoes clustered 
together, and became stationary. Chingachgook and Uncas 
profited by the interval to regain their wind, though Dun- 
can continued to work with the most persevering industry. 
The father and son now cast calm but inquiring glances at 
each other, to learn if either had sustained any injury by 
the fire; for both well knew that no cry or exclamation 
would, in such a moment of necessity, have been permitted 
to betray the accident. A few large drops of blood were 
trickling down the shoulder of the Sagamore, who, when 
he perceived that the eyes of Uncas dwelt too long on the 
sight, raised some water in the hollow of his hand, and, 
washing off the stain, was content to manifest in this simple 
manner the slightness of the injury. 

“Softly, softly, major,” said the scout, who by this time 
had reloaded his rifle; “we are a little too far already for a 
rifle to put forth its beauties, and you see yonder imps are 
holding a council. Let them come up within striking dis- 
tance — my eye may well be trusted in such a matter — and 
I will trail the varlets the length of the Horican, guarantee- 
ing that not a shot of theirs shall, at the worst, more than 
break the skin, while ‘Killdeer’ shall touch the life twice in 
three times.” 

“We forget our errand,” returned the diligent Duncan. 


262 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


“For God’s sake let us profit by this advantage, and in- 
crease our distance from the enemy.” 

“Give me my children,” said Munro hoarsely; “trifie no 
longer with a father’s agony, but restore me my babes.” 

Long and habitual deference to the mandates of his supe- 
riors had taught the scout the virtue of obedience. Throw- 
ing a last and lingering glance at the distant canoes, he laid 
aside his rifle, and, relieving the wearied Duncan, resumed 
the paddle, which he wielded with sinews that never tired. 
His efforts were seconded by those of the Mohicans, and a 
very few minutes served to place such a sheet of water 
between them and their enemies that Heyward once more 
breathed freely. 

The lake now began to expand, and their route lay along 
a wide reach, that was lined, as before, by high and ragged 
mountains. But the islands were few and easily avoided. 
The strokes of the paddles grew more measured and regular, 
while they who plied them continued their labor, after 
the close and deadly chase from which they had just re- 
lieved themselves, with as much coolness as though their 
speed had been tried in sport, rather than under such press- 
ing, nay, almost desperate circumstances. 

Instead of following the western shore, whither their 
errand led them, the wary Mohican inclined his course 
more toward those hills behind which- Montcalm was 
known to have led his army into the formidable fortress of 
Ticonderoga. As the Hurons, to every appearance, had 
abandoned the pursuit, there was no apparent reason for 
this excess of caution. It was, however, maintained for 
hours, until they had reached a bay, nigh the northern 
termination of the lake. Here the canoe was driven upon 
the beach, and the whole party landed. Hawkeye and 
Heyward ascended an adjacent bluff, where the former, 
after considering the expanse of water beneath him, pointed 
out to the latter a small black object, hovering under a 
headland, at the distance of several miles. 

“Do you see it?” demanded the scout. “Now, what 
would you account that spot, were you left alone to white 
experience to find your way through this wilderness?” 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 263 

“But for its distance and its magnitude I should suppose 
it a bird. Can it be a living object?” 

“ ’Tis a canoe of good birchen bark, and paddled by fierce 
and crafty Mingoes. Though Providence has lent to those 
who inhabit the woods eyes that would be needless to men 
in the settlements, where there are inventions to assist the 
sight, yet no human organs can see all the dangers which 
at this moment circumvent us. These varlets pretend to be 
bent chiefiy on their sun-down meal, but the moment it is 
dark they will be on our trail, as true as hounds on the 
scent. We must throw them off, or our pursuit of Le 
Renard Subtil may be given up. These lakes are useful at 
times, especially when the game takes the water,” contin- 
ued the scout, gazing about him with a countenance of con- 
cern; “but they give no cover, except it be to the fishes. 
God knows what the country would be if the settlements 
should ever spread far from the two rivers. Both hunting 
and war would lose their beauty.” 

,“Let us not delay a moment without some good and ob- 
vious cause.” 

“I little like that smoke which you may see worming up 
along the rock above the canoe,” interrupted the abstracted 
scout. “My life on it, other eyes than ours see it, and 
know its meaning. Well, words will not mend the matter, 
and it is time that we were doing.” 

Hawkeye moved away from the look-out, and descended, 
musing profoundly, to the shore. He communicated the 
result of his observations to his companions, in Delaware, 
and a short and earnest consultation succeeded. When it 
terminated, the three instantly set about executing their 
new resolutions. 

The canoe was lifted from the water and borne on the 
shoulders of the party. They proceeded into the wood, 
making as broad and obvious a trail as possible. They soon 
reached a water course, which they crossed, and continued 
onward, until they came to an extensive and naked rock. 
At this point, where their footsteps might be expected to be 
no longer visible, they retraced their route to the brook, 
walking backward with the utmost care. They now fol- 


264 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


lowed the bed of the little stream to the lake, into which 
they immediately launched their canoe again. A low point 
concealed them from the headland, and the margin of the 
lake was fringed for some distance with dense and over- 
hanging bushes. Under the cover of these natural advan- 
tages, they toiled their way, with patient industry, until the 
scout pronounced that he believed it would be safe once 
more to land. 

The halt continued until evening rendered objects indis- 
tinct and uncertain to the eye. Then they resumed their 
route, and, favored by the darkness, pushed silently and 
vigorously toward the western shore. Although the 
rugged outline of mountain, to which they were steering, 
presented no distinctive marks to the eyes of Duncan, the 
Mohican entered the little haven he had selected with the 
confidence and accuracy of an experienced pilot. 

The boat was again lifted and borne into the woods, 
where it was carefully concealed under a pile of brush. The 
adventurers assumed their arms and packs, and the scout 
announced to Munro and Heyward that he and the Indians 
were at last in readiness to proceed. 


CHAPTER XXI 

If you find a man there, he shall die a fiea’s death. 

—Merry Wives of Windsor. 

The party had -landed on the border of a region that is, 
even to this day, less known to the inhabitants of the States 
than the deserts of Arabia, or the steppes of Tartary. It 
was the sterile and rugged district which separates the 
tributaries of Champlain from those of the Hudson, the 
Mohawk, and the St. Lawrence. Since the period of our 
tale, the active spirit of the country has surrounded it with 
a belt of rich and thriving settlements, though none but the 
hunter or the savage is ever known, even now, to penetrate 
its wild recesses. 

As Hawkeye and the Mohicans had, however, often trav- 
ersed the mountains and valleys of this vast v/ilderness, 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


265 


they did not hesitate to plunge into its depths with the 
freedom of men accustomed to its privations and difficul- 
L ties. For many hours the travellers toiled on their labori- 
b ous way, guided by a star, or following the direction of 
i - some water-course, until the scout called a halt; and, hold- 
ing a short consultation with the Indians, they lighted their 
fire, and made the usual preparations to pass the remainder 
of the night where they then were. 

Imitating the example, and emulating the confidence, of 
their more experienced associates, Munro and Duncan slept 
> without fear, if not without uneasiness. The dews were 
suffered to exhale, and the sun dispersed the mists, and 
i was shedding a strong and clear light in the forest, when 
the travellers resumed their journey. 

After proceeding a few miles, the progress of Hawkeye, 
^ who led the advance, became more deliberate and watchful. 
He often stopped to examine the trees; nor did he cross a 
rivulet without attentively considering the quantity, the 
velocity, and the color of its waters. Distrusting his own 
! judgment, his appeals to the opinion of Chingachgook were 

; frequent and earnest. During one of these conferences, 

Heyward observed that Uncas stood a patient and silent, 
though, as he imagined, an interested listener. He was 
I strongly, tempted to address the young chief, and demand 

I his opinion of their progress; but the calm and dignified 

I demeanor of the native induced him to believe that, like 
I himself, the other was wholly dependent on the sagacity 

j and intelligence of the seniors of the party. At last the 

j scout spoke in English, and at once explained the embar- 

I rassment of their situation. 

: , “When I found that the home path of the Hurons run 
north,” he said, “it did not need the judgment of many 
I long years to tell that they would follow the valleys, and 
keep atween the waters of the Hudson and the Horican, 
j> until they might strike the springs of the Canada streams, 
I which would lead them into the heart of the’ country of the 
• Frenchers. Yet here are we, within a short range of the 
Scaroon,^ and not a sign of a trail have we crossed! Human 

t 


1 Schroon River. 


266 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


natur’ is weak, and it is possible we may not have taken the 
proper scent.” 

“Heaven protect us from such an error!” exclaimed 
Duncan. “Let us retrace our steps, and examine as we go, 
with keener eyes. Has Uncas no counsel to offer in such 
a strait?” 

The young Mohican cast a glance at his father, but, 
maintaining his quiet and reserved mien, he continued 
silent. Chingachgook had caught the look, and motioning 
with his hand, he bade him speak. The moment this per- 
mission was accorded, the countenance of Uncas changed 
from its grave composure to a gleam of intelligence and joy. 
Bounding forward like a deer, he sprang up the side of a 
little acclivity, a few rods in advance, and stood exultingly 
over a spot of fresh earth that looked as though it had been 
recently upturned by the passage of some heavy animal. 
The eyes of the whole party followed the unexpected move- 
ment, and read their success in the air of triumph that the 
youth assumed. 

“ ’Tis the trail!” exclaimed the scout, advancing to the 
spot; “the lad is quick of sight and keen of wit for his 
years.” 

“ ’Tis extraordinary that he should have withheld his 
knowledge so long,” muttered Duncan, at his elbow. 

“It would have been more wonderful had he spoken 
without a bidding. No, no; your young white, who gathers 
his learning from books and can measure what he knows by 
the page, may conceit that his knowledge, like his legs, 
outruns that of his father; but where experience is the 
master, the scholar is made to know the value of years, and 
respects them accordingly.” 

“See!” said Uncas, pointing north and south, at the 
evident marks of the broad trail on either side of him; 
“the dark-hair has gone toward the frost.” 

“Hound never ran on a more beautiful scent,” responded 
the scout, dashing forward at once on the indicated route; 
“we are favored, greatly favored, and can follow with high 
noses. Ay, here are both your waddling beasts; this Huron 
travels like a white general. The fellow is stricken with a 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


267 


judgment and is mad!^ Look sharp for wheels, Saga- 
more,” he continued, looking back, and laughing in his 
newly awakened satisfaction; “we shall soon have the fool 
journeying in a coach, and that with three of the best pair 
of eyes on the borders, in his rear.” 

The spirits of the scout, and the astonishing success of 
the chase, in which a circuitous distance of more than 
forty miles had been passed, did not fail to impart a por- 
tion of hope to the whole party. Their advance was rapid; 
and made with as much confidence as a traveller would 
proceed along a wide highway. If a rock, or a rivulet, or a 
bit of earth harder than common, severed the links of the 
clue they followed, the true eye of the scout recovered them 
at a distance, and seldom rendered the delay of a single mo- 
ment necessary. Their progress was much facilitated by 
the certainty that Magua had found it necessary to journey 
through the valleys; a circumstance which rendered the 
general direction of the route sure. Nor had the Huron 
entirely neglected the arts uniformly practiced by the 
natives when retiring in front of an enemy. False trails 
and sudden turnings were frequent, wherever a brook or 
the formation of the ground rendered them feasible; but his 
pursuers were rarely deceived, and never failed to detect 
their error before they had lost either time or distance on 
the deceptive track. 

By the middle of the afternoon they had passed the Sca- 
roon, and were following the route of the declining sun. 
After descending an eminence to a low bottom, through 
which a swift stream glided, they suddenly came to a place 
where the party of Le Renard had made a halt. Extin- 
guished brands were lying around a spring, the offals of a 
deer were scattered about the place, and the trees bore evi- 
dent marks of having been browsed by the horses. At a 
little distance, Heyward discovered, and contemplated with 
tender emotion, the small bower under which he was fain 
to believe that Cora and Alice had reposed. But while the 

1 Cooper uses this Idea elsewhere. In “The Pathfinder” a sailor’s life 
is spared on account of the mad boldness with which be dances ou 
the blockhouse before the eyes of the besieging Indians. 


268 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


earth was trodden, and the footsteps of both men and beasts 
were so plainly visible around the place, the trail appeared 
to have suddenly ended. 

It was easy to follow the tracks of the Narragansetts, but 
they seemed only to have wandered without guides, or any 
other object than the pursuit of food. At length Uncas, 
who, with his father, had endeavored to trace the route of 
the horses, came upon a sign of their presence that was 
quite recent. Before following the clue, he communicated 
his success to his companions; and while the latter were 
consulting on the circumstance, the youth reappeared, 
leading the two fillies, with their saddles broken and the 
housings soiled, as though they had been permitted to run 
at will for several days. 

“What should this mean?” said Duncan, turning pale, and 
glancing his eyes around him, as if he feared the brush 
and leaves were about to give up some horrid secret. 

“That our march is come to a quick end, and that we are 
in an enemy’s country,” returned the scout. “Had the 
knave been pressed, and the gentle ones wanted horses to 
keep up with the party, he might have taken their scalps; 
but without an enemy at his heels, and with such rugged 
beasts as these, he would not hurt a hair of their heads. I 
know your thoughts, and shame be it to our color that you 
have reason for them; but he who thinks that even a Mingo 
would ill-treat a woman, unless it be to tomahawk her, 
knows nothing of Indian natur’, or the laws of the woods. 
No, no; I have heard that the French Indians had come 
into these hills to hunt the moose, and we are getting 
within scent of their camp. Why should they not? the 
morning and evening guns of Ty may be heard any day 
among these mountains; for the Frenchers are running 
a new line atween the provinces of the king and the Can- 
adas. It is true that the horses are here, but the Hurons 
are gone; let us then hunt for the path by which they 
departed.” 

Hawkeye and the Mohicans now applied themselves to 
their task in good earnest. A circle of a few hundred feet 
in circumference was drawm, and each of the party took a 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


269 


segment for his portion. The examination, however, re- 
sulted in no discovery. The impressions of footsteps were 
numerous, but they all appeared like those of men who had 
wandered about the spot without any design to quit it. 
Again the scout and his companions made the circuit of the 
halting-place, each slowly following the other, until they 
assembled in the centre once more, no wiser than when they 
started. 

“Such cunning is not without its deviltry,” exclaimed 
Hawkeye, when he met the disappointed looks of his 
assistants. 

“We must get down to it. Sagamore, beginning at the 
spring, and going over the ground by inches. The Huron 
shall never brag in his tribe that he has a foot which leaves 
no print.” 

Setting the example himself, the scout engaged in the 
scrutiny with renewed zeal. Not a leaf was left unturned. 
The sticks were removed, and the stones lifted; for Indian 
cunning was known frequently to adopt these objects as 
covers, laboring with the utmost patience and industry to 
conceal each footstep as they proceeded. Still no discovery 
was made. At length Uncas, whose activity had enabled 
him to achieve his portion of the task the soonest, raked the 
earth across the turbid little rill which ran from the spring, 
and diverted its course into another channel. So soon as 
its narrow bed below the dam was dry, he stooped over it 
with keen and curious eyes. A cry of exultation immedi- 
ately announced the success of the young warrior. The 
whole party crowded to the spot where Uncas pointed out 
the impression of a moccasin in the moist alluvion.^ 

“The lad will be an honor to his people,” said Hawkeye, 
regarding the trail with as much admiration as a naturalist 
would expend on the tusk of a mammoth or the rib of a 
mastodon; “ay, and a thorn in the sides of the Hurons. 
Yet that is not the footstep of an Indian! the weight is too 
much on the heel, and the toes are squared, as though one 
of the French dancers had been in, pigeon-winging his 
tribe! Run back, Uncas, and bring me the size of the sing- 


1 Alluvium. 


270 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


er’s foot. You will find a beautiful print of it just opposite 
yon rock, agin the hillside.” 

While the youth was engaged in this commission, the 
scout and Chingachgook were attentively considering the 
impressions. The measurements agreed, and the former 
unhesitatingly pronounced that the footstep was that of 
David, who had, once more, been made to exchange his 
shoes for moccasins. 

“I can now read the whole of it, as plainly as if I had 
seen the arts of Le Subtil,” he added; “the singer, being a 
man whose gifts lay chiefly in his throat and feet, was made 
to go first, and the others have trod in his steps, imitating 
their formation.” 

“But,” cried Duncan, “I see no signs of—” 

“The gentle ones,” interrupted the scout; “the varlet 
has found a way to carry them, until he supposed he had 
thrown any followers off the scent. My life on it, we see 
their pretty little feet again, before many rods go by.” 

The whole party now proceeded, following the course of 
the rill, keeping anxious eyes on the regular impressions. 
The water soon flowed into its bed again, but, watching the 
ground on either side, the foresters pursued their way, 
content with knowing that the trail lay beneath. More 
than half a mile was passed before the rill rippled close 
around the base of an extensive and dry rock. Here they 
paused to make sure that the Hurons had not quitted the 
water. 

It was fortunate they did so; for the quick and active 
Uncas soon found the impression of a foot on a bunch of 
moss, where it would seem an Indian had inadvertently 
trodden. Pursuing the direction given by 'this discovery, 
he entered the neighboring thicket, and struck the trail, as 
fresh and obvious as it had been before they reached the 
spring. Another shout announced the good fortune of the 
youth to his companions, and at once terminated the 
search. 

“Ay, it has been planned with Indian judgment,” said 
the scout, when the party was assembled around the place; 
“and would have blinded white eyes.” 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


271 


“Shall we proceed?” demanded Heyward. 

“Softly, softly; we know our path; but it is good to 
examine the formation of things. This is my schooling, 
major; and if one neglects the book, there is little chance 
of learning from the open hand of Providence. All is plain 
but one thing, which is the manner that the knave con- 
trived to get the gentle ones along the blind trail. Even a 
Huron would be too proud to let their tender feet touch 
the water.” 

“Will this assist in explaining the difficulty?” said Hey- 
ward, pointing toward the fragments of a sort of hand- 
barrow, that had been rudely constructed of boughs and 
bound together with withes, and which now seemed care- 
lessly cast aside as useless. 

“ 'Tis explained,” cried the delighted Hawkeye. “If 
them varlets have passed a minute they have spent hours 
in striving to fabricate a lying end to their trail! Well, I’ve 
known them to waste a day in the same manner, to as little 
purpose. Here we have three pair of moccasins, and two of 
little feet. It is amazing that any mortal beings can jour- 
ney on limbs so small! Pass me the thong of buckskin, 
Uncas, and let me take the length of this foot. By the 
Lord, it is no longer than a child’s, and yet the maidens 
are tall and comely. That Providence is partial in its gifts, 
for its own wise reasons, the best and most contented of us 
must allow.” 

“The tender limbs of my daughters are unequal to these 
hardships,” said Munro, looking at the light footsteps of his 
children with a parent’s love: “we shall find their fainting 
forms in this desert.” 

“Of that there is little cause of fear,” returned the scout, 
slowly shaking his head; “this is a firm and straight, though 
a light step, and not over long. See, the heel has hardly 
touched the ground; and there the dark-hair has made a 
little jump, from root to root. No, no; my knowledge for 
it, neither of them was nigh fainting, hereaway. Now, the 
singer was beginning to be foot-sore and leg-weary, as is 
plain by his trail. There, you see, he slipped; here he has 
travelled wide, and tottered; and there, again, it looks as 


272 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


though he journeyed on snow-shoes. Ay, ay, a man who 
uses his throat altogether can hardly give his legs a proper 
training.” 

From such undeniable testimony did the practiced woods- 
man arrive at the truth, with nearly as much certainty 
and precision as if he had been a witness of all those 
events which his ingenuity so easily elucidated. Cheered 
by these assurances, and satisfied by a reasoning that 
was so obvious, while it was so simple, the party resumed 
its course, after making a short halt to take a hurried 
repast. 

When the meal was ended, the scout cast a glance up- 
ward at the setting sun, and pushed forward with a rapid- 
ity which compelled Heyward and the still vigorous Munro 
to exert all their muscles to equal. Their route now lay 
along the bottom which had already been mentioned. As 
the Hurons had made no further efforts to conceal their 
footsteps, the progress of the pursuers was no longer de- 
layed by uncertainty. Before an hour had elapsed, how- 
ever, the speed of Hawkeye sensibly abated, and his head, 
instead of maintaining its former direct and forward look, 
began to turn suspiciously from side to side, as if he were 
conscious of approaching danger. He soon stopped again, 
and waited for the whole party to come up. 

“I scent the Hurons,” he said, speaking to the Mohicans; 
“yonder is open sky, through the tree-tops, and we are get- 
ting too nigh their encampment. Sagamore, you will take 
the hillside to the right; Uncas will bend along the brook 
to the left, while I will try the trail. If anything should 
happen, the call will be three croaks of a crow. I saw one 
of the birds fanning himself in the air, just beyond the dead 
oak — another sign that we are touching an encamp- 
ment.” 

The Indians departed their several ways without reply, 
while Hawkeye cautiously proceeded with the two gentle- 
men. Heyward soon pressed to the side of their guide, 
eager to catch an early glimpse of those enemies he had 
pursued with so much toil and anxiety. His companion 
told him to steal to the edge of the wood, which, as usual. 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


273 


was fringed with a thicket, and wait his coming, for he 
wished to examine certain suspicious signs a little on one 
side. Duncan obeyed, and soon found himself in a situa- 
tion to command a view which he found as extraordinary 
as it was novel. 

The trees of many acres had been felled, and the glow of 
a mild summer’s evening had fallen on the clearing, in 
beautiful contrast to the gray light of the forest. A short 
distance from the place where Duncan stood, the stream 
had seemingly expanded into a little lake, covering most of 
the low land from mountain to mountain. The water fell 
out of this wide basin in a cataract so regular and gentle 
that it appeared rather to be the work of human hands 
than fashioned by nature. A hundred earthen dwellings 
stood on the margin of the lake, and even in its water, as 
though the latter had overflowed its usual banks. Their 
rounded roofs, admirably moulded for defense against the 
weather, denoted more of industry and foresight than the 
natives were wont to bestow on their regular habitations, 
much less on those they occupied for the temporary pur- 
poses of hunting and war. In short, the whole village or 
town, whichever it might be termed, possessed more of 
method and neatness of execution than the white men had 
been accustomed to believe belonged, ordinarily, to the 
Indian habits. It appeared, however, to be deserted. At 
least so thought Duncan for many minutes; but at length 
he fancied he discovered several human forms advancing 
toward him on all fours, and apparently dragging in their 
train some heavy, and as he was quick to apprehend, some 
formidable engine. Just then a few dark-looking heads 
gleamed out of the dwellings, and the place seemed sud- 
denly alive with beings, which, however, glided from cover 
to cover so swiftly as to allow no opportunity of examining 
their humors or pursuits. Alarmed at these suspicious and 
inexplicable movements, he was about to attempt the signal 
of the crows, when the rustling of leaves at hand drew his 
eyes in another direction. 

The young man started, and recoiled a few paces instinc- 


ts 


274 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


lively, when he found himself within a hundred yards of a 
stranger Indian. Recovering his recollection on the in- 
stant, instead of sounding an alarm which might prove 
fatal to himself, he remained stationary, an attentive ob- 
server of the other’s motions. 

An instant of calm observation served to assure Duncan 
that he was undiscovered. The native, like himself, seemed 
occupied in considering the low dwellings of the village 
and the stolen movements of its inhabitants. It was impos- 
sible to discover the expression of his features through the 
grotesque mask of paint under which they were concealed, 
though Duncan fancied it was rather melancholy than sav- 
age. His head was shaved, as usual, with the exception of 
the crown, from whose tuft three or four faded feathers 
from a hawk’s wing were loosely dangling. A ragged calico 
mantle half-encircled his body, while his nether garment 
was composed of an ordinary shirt, the sleeves of which 
were made to perform the office that is usually executed by 
a much more commodious arrangement. His legs were 
bare and sadly cut and torn by briers. The feet were, 
however, covered with a pair of good deer-skin moccasins. 
Altogether, the appearance of the individual was forlorn 
and miserable. 

Duncan was still curiously observing the person of his 
neighbor, when the scout stole silently and cautiously to his 
side. 

“You see we have reached their settlement or encamp- 
ment,’’ whispered the young man; “and here is one of the 
savages himself, in a very embarrassing position for our 
further movements.” 

Hawkeye started, and dropped his rifle, when, directed by 
the Anger of his companion, the stranger came under his 
view. Then, lowering the dangerous muzzle, he stretched 
forward his long neck, as if to assist a scrutiny that was 
already intensely keen. 

“The imp is not a Huron,” he said, “nor of any of the 
Canada tribes; and yet you see, by his clothes, the knave 
has been plundering a white. Ay, Montcalm has raked the 
woods for his inroad, and a whooping, murdering set of 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 275 

varlets has he gathered together. Can you see where he 
has put his rifle or his bow?” 

“He appears to have no arms; nor does he seem to be 
viciously inclined. Unless he communicate the alarm to 
his fellows, who, as you see, are dodging about the water, 
we have but little to fear from him.” 

The scout turned to Heyward, and regarded him a 
moment with unconcealed amazement. Then opening wide 
his mouth, he indulged in unrestrained and heartfelt laugh- 
ter, though in that silent and peculiar manner which danger 
had so long taught him to practice. 

Repeating the words, “fellows who are dodging about 
the water!” he added, “so much for schooling and passing 
a boyhood in the settlements! The knave has long legs, 
though, and shall not be trusted. Do you keep him under 
your rifle while I creep in behind, through the bush, and 
take him alive. Fire on no account.” 

Heyward had already permitted his companion to bury 
part of his person in the thicket, when, stretching forth an 
arm, he arrested him, in order to ask, — 

“If I see you in danger, may I not risk a shot?” 

Hawkeye regarded him a moment, like one who knew not 
how to take the question; then nodding his head, he 
answered, still laughing, though inaudibly, — 

“Fire a whole platoon, major.” 

In the next moment he was concealed by the leaves. 
Duncan waited several minutes in feverish impatience, 
before he caught another glimpse of the scout. Then he 
reappeared, creeping along the earth, from which his dress 
was hardly distinguishable, directly in the rear of his in- 
tended captive. Having reached within a few yards of the 
latter, he arose to his feet, silently and slowly. At that 
instant, several loud blows were struck on the water, and 
Duncan turned his eyes just in time to perceive that a 
hundred dark forms were plunging, in a body, into the 
troubled little sheet. Grasping his rifle, his looks were 
again bent on the Indian near him. Instead of taking the 
alarm, the unconscious savage stretched forward his neck, 
as if he also watched the movements about the gloomy lake, 


276 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


with a sort of silly curiosity. In the meantiine, the uplifted 
hand of Hawkeye was above him. But, without any appar- 
ent reason, it was withdrawn, and its owner indulged in 
another long, though still silent, fit of merriment. When 
the peculiar and hearty laughter of Hawkeye was ended, 
instead of grasping his victim by the throat, he tapped 
him lightly on the shoulder, and exclaimed aloud, — 

“How now, friend! have you a mind to teach the beavers 
to sing?” 

“Even so,” was the ready answer. “It would seem that 
the Being that gave them power to improve his gifts so 
well, would not deny them voices to proclaim his praise.” 


CHAPTER XXII 

Bot. Are we aU met? 

Qul, Pat, pat; and here’s a marvellous convenient place for our 
rehearsal. 

—Shakespeare. 

The reader may better imagine than we describe the 
surprise of Heyward. His lurking Indians were suddenly 
converted into four-footed beasts; his lake into a beaver 
pond; his cataract into a dam, constructed by those indus- 
trious and ingenious quadrupeds; and a suspected enemy 
into his tried friend, David Gamut, the master of psalmody. 
The presence of the latter created so many unexpected 
hopes relative to the sisters that, without a moment’s 
hesitation, the young man broke out of his ambush, and 
sprang forward to join the two principal actors in the 
scene. 

The merriment of Hawkeye was not easily appeased. 
Without ceremony, and with a rough hand, he twirled the 
supple Gamut around on his heel, and more than once 
affirmed that the Hurons had done themselves great credit 
in the fashion of his costume. Then, seizing the hand of 
the other, he squeezed it with a grip that brought the tears 
into the eyes of the placid David, and wished him joy of 
his new condition. 


THE LAST OE THE MOHICANS. 


277 


“You were about opening your throat-practicings among 
the beavers, were ye?” he said. “The cunning devils 
know half the trade already, for they beat the time with 
their tails, as you heard just now; and in good time it was 
too, or ‘Killdeer’ might have sounded the first note among 
them. I have known greater fools, who could read and 
write, than an experienced old beaver; but as for squalling, 
the animals are born dumb! What think you of such a 
song as this?” 

David shut his sensitive ears, and even Heyward, ap- 
prised as he was of the nature of the cry, looked upward 
in quest of the bird, as the cawing of a crow rang in the 
air about them. 

“See!” continued the laughing scout, as he pointed to- 
ward the remainder of the party, who, in obedience to the 
signal, were already approaching: “this is music which has 
its natural virtues; it brings two good rifies to my elbow, to 
say nothing of the knives and tomahawks. But we see 
that you are safe; now tell us what has become of the 
maidens.” 

“They are captives to the heathen,” said David; “and, 
though greatly troubled in spirit, enjoying comfort and 
safety in the body.” 

“Both?” demanded the breathless Heyward. 

“Even so. Though our wayfaring has been sore and our 
sustenance scanty, we have had little other cause for com- 
plaint except the violence done our feelings by being thus 
led in captivity into a far land.” 

“Bless ye for these very words!” exclaimed the trem- 
bling Munro; “I shall then receive my babes, spotless and 
angel-like, as I lost them!” 

“I know not that their delivery is at hand,” returned the 
doubting David; “the leader of these savages is possessed 
of an evil spirit that no power short of Omnipotence can 
tame. I have tried him sleeping and waking, but neither 
sounds nor language seem to touch his soul.” 

“Where is the knave?” bluntly interrupted the scout. 

“He hunts the moose to-day, with his young men; and 
to-morrow, as I hear, they pass further into these forests, 


278 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


and Higher to the borders of Canada. The elder maiden is 
conveyed to a neighboring people whose lodges are situate 
beyond yonder black pinnacle of rock; while the younger 
is detained among the women of the Hurons, whose dwell- 
ings are but two short miles hence, on a table-land where 
the fire has done the oflBce of the axe and prepared the 
place for their reception.” 

“Alice, my gentle Alice!” murmured Heyward; “she has 
lost the consolation of her sister’s presence!” 

“Even so. But so far as praise and thanksgiving in 
psalmody can temper the spirit in affliction, she has not 
suffered.” 

“Has she then a heart for music?” 

“Of the graver and more solemn character; though it 
must be acknowledged that, in spite of all my endeavors, 
the maiden weeps oftener than she smiles. At such mo- 
ments I forbear to press the holy songs; but there are many 
sweet and comfortable periods of satisfactory communica- 
tion, when the ears of the savages are astounded with the 
upliftings of our voices.” 

“And why are you permitted to go at large, unwatched?” 

David composed his features into what he intended 
should express an air of modest humility, before he meekly 
replied, — 

“Little be the praise to such a worm as I. But, though 
the power of psalmody was suspended in the terrible busi- 
ness of that field of blood through which we passed, it has 
recovered its influence even over the souls of the heathen, 
and I am suffered to go and come at will.” 

The scout laughed, and tapping his own forehead signifi- 
cantly, he perhaps explained the singular indulgence more 
satisfactorily when he said, — 

“The Indians never harm a non-composser.^ But, why, 
when the path lay open before your eyes, did you not 
strike back on your own trail (it is not so blind as that 
which a squirrel' would make), and bring in the tidings 
to Edward?” 

The scout, remembering only his own sturdy and iron 

^ Non coropoB mentis: not of sound mind. 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


279 


nature, had probably exacted a task that David, under no 
circumstances, could have performed. But, without en- 
tirely losing the meekness of his air, the latter was content 
to answer,— 

“Though my soul would rejoice to visit the habitations 
of Christendom once more, my feet would rather follow the 
tender spirits intrusted to my keeping, even into the idola- 
trous province of the Jesuits, than take one step backward, 
while they pined in captivity and sorrow.” 

Though the figurative language of David was not very 
intelligible, the sincere and steady expression of his eye, 
and the glow on his honest countenance, were not easily 
mistaken. Uncas pressed closer to his side, and regarded 
the speaker with a look of commendation, while his father 
expressed his satisfaction by the ordinary pithy exclam- 
ation of approbation. The scout shook his head as he 
rejoined, — 

“The Lord never intended that the man should place all 
his endeavors in his throat, to the neglect of other and 
better gifts! But he has fallen into the hands of some 
silly woman, when he should have been gathering his educa- 
tion under a blue sky, among the beauties of the forest. 
Here, friend; I did intend to kindle a fire with this tooting 
whistle of thine; but as you value the thing, take it, and 
blow your best on it!” 

Gamut received his pitch-pipe with as strong an expres- 
sion of pleasure as he believed compatible with the grave 
functions he exercised. After essaying its virtues repeat- 
edly, in contrast with his own voice, and satisfying himself 
that none of its melody was lost, he made a very serious 
demonstration toward achieving a few stanzas of one of 
the longest effusions in the little volume so often men- 
tioned. 

Heyward, however, hastily interrupted his pious purpose, 
by continuing questions concerning the past and present 
condition of his fellow-captives, and in a manner more 
methodical than had been permitted by his feelings in the 
opening of their interview. David, though he regarded his 
treasure with longing eyes, was constrained to answer; 


m 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


especially as the venerable father took a part in the interro- 
gatories, with an interest too Imposing to be denied. Nor 
did the scout fail to throw in a pertinent inquiry whenever 
a fitting occasion presented. In this manner, though with 
frequent interruptions, which were filled with certain 
threatening sounds from the recovered instrument, the pur- 
suers were put in possession of such leading circumstances 
as were likely to prove useful in accomplishing their 
great and engrossing object — the recovery of the sisters. 
The narrative of David was simple, and the facts but 
few. 

Magua had waited on the mountain until a safe moment 
to retire presented itself, when he had descended, and taken 
the route along the western side of the Horican, in the 
direction of the Canadas. As the subtle Huron was famil- 
iar with the paths, and well knew there was no immediate 
danger of pursuit, their progress had been moderate, and 
far from fatiguing. It appeared from the unembellished 
statement of David that his own presence had been rather 
endured than desired; though even Magua had not been 
entirely exempt from that veneration with which the In- 
dians regard those whom the Great Spirit has visited in 
their intellects. At night, the utmost care had been taken 
of the captives, both to prevent injury from the damps of 
the woods and to guard against an escape. At the spring, 
the horses were turned loose, as has been seen; and not- 
withstanding the remoteness and length of their trail, the 
artifices already named were resorted to, in order to cut off 
every clue to their place of retreat. On their arrival at the 
encampment of his people, Magua, in obedience to a policy 
seldom departed from, separated his prisoners. Cora had 
been sent to a tribe that temporarily occupied an adjacent 
valley, though David was far too ignorant of the customs 
and history of the natives to be able to declare anything 
satisfactory concerning their name or character. He only 
knew that they had not engaged in the late expedition 
against William Henry; that, like the Hurons themselves, 
they were allies of Montcalm; and that they maintained an 
amicable, though a watchful, intercourse with the warlike 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


281 


and savage people whom chance had, for a time, brought 
in such close and disagreeable contact with themselves. 

The Mohicans and the scout listened to his interrupted 
and imperfect narrative with an interest that obviously in- 
creased as he proceeded; and it was while attempting to 
explain the pursuits of the community in which Cora was 
detained that the latter abruptly demanded, — 

“Did you see the fashion of their knives? were they of 
English or French formation?” 

“My thoughts were bent on no such vanities, but rather 
mingled in consolation with those of the maidens.” 

“The time may come when you will not consider the 
knife of a savage such a despisable vanity,” returned the 
scout, with a strong expression of contempt for the other’s 
dulness. “Had they held their corn-feast — or can you say 
anything of the totems of the tribe?” 

“Of corn, we had many and plentiful feasts; for the 
grain, being in the milk, is both sweet to the mouth and 
comfortable to the stomach. Of totem, I know not the 
meaning; but if it appertaineth in any wise to the art of 
Indian music, it need not be inquired after at their hands. 
They never join their voices in praise, and it would seem 
that they are among the profanest of the idolatrous.” 

“Therein you belie the nature of an Indian. Even the 
Mingo adores but the true and living God. ’Tis a wicked 
fabrication of the whites, and I say it to the shame of my 
color, that would make the warrior bow down before images 
of his own creation. It is true, they endeavor to make 
truces with the wicked one — as who would not with an 
enemy he cannot conquer? — but they look up for favor and 
assistance to the Great and Good Spirit only.” 

“It may be so,” said David; “but I have seen strange 
and fantastic images drawn in their paint, of which their 
admiration and care savored of spiritual pride; especially 
one, and that, too, a foul and loathsome object.” 

“Was it a sarpent?” quickly demanded the scout. 

“Much the same. It was in the likeness of an abject and 
creeping tortoise.” 

“Hugh!” exclaimed both the attentive Mohicans in a 


282 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


breath; while the scout shook his head with an air of one 
who had made an important, but by no means a pleasing 
discovery. Then the father spoke, in the language of the 
Delawares, and with a calmness and dignity that instantly 
arrested the attention even of those to whom his words were 
unintelligible. His gestures were impressive, and at times 
energetic. Once he lifted his arm on high; and as it de- 
scended, the action threw aside the folds of his light mantle, 
a finger resting on his breast, as if he would enforce his 
meaning by the attitude. Duncan’s eyes followed the 
movement, and he perceived that the animal just mentioned 
was beautifully, though faintly, worked in a blue tint on 
the swarthy breast of the chief. All that he had ever heard 
of the violent separation of the vast tribes of the Delawares 
rushed across his mind, and he awaited the proper moment 
to speak, with a suspense that was rendered nearly intoler- 
able by his interest in the stake. His wish, however, was 
anticipated by the scout, who turned from his red friend, 
saying,— 

“We have found that which may be good or evil to us, 
as Heaven disposes. The Sagamore is of the high blood of 
the Delawares, and is the great chief of their Tortoises! 
That some of this stock are among the people of whom the 
singer tells us, is plain, by his words; and had he but spent 
half the breath in prudent questions, that he has blown 
away in making a trumpet of his throat, we might have 
known how many warriors they numbered. It is, alto- 
gether, a dangerous path we move in; for a friend whose 
face is turned from you often bears a bloodier mind than 
the enemy who seeks your scalp.” 

“Explain,” said Duncan. 

“ ’Tis a long and melancholy tradition, and one I little 
like to think of; for it is not to be denied that the evil has 
been mainly done by men with white skins. But it has 
ended in turning the tomahawk of brother against brother, 
and brought the Mingo and the Delaware to travel in the 
same path.” 

“You then suspect it is a portion of that people among 
whom Cora resides?” 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


283 


The scout nodded his head in assent, though he seemed 
anxious to waive the further discussion of a subject that 
appeared painful. The impatient Duncan now made several 
hasty and desperate propositions to attempt the release of 
the sisters. Munro seemed to shake off his apathy, and 
listened to the wild schemes of the young man with a defer- 
ence that his gray hairs and reverend years should have 
denied. But the scout, after suffering the ardor of the lover 
to expend itself a little, found means to convince him of the 
folly of precipitation in a matter that would require their 
coolest judgment and utmost fortitude. 

“It would be well,” he added, “to let this man go in 
again, as usual, and for him to tarry in the lodges, giving 
notice to the gentle ones of our approach, until we call him 
out, by signal, to consult. You know the cry of a crow, 
friend, from the whistle of the whippoorwill?” 

“ ’Tis a pleasing bird,” returned David, “and has a soft 
and melancholy note, though the time is rather quick and 
ill-measured.” 

“He speaks of the wish-ton-wish,” said the scout; “well, 
since you like his whistle, it shall be your signal. Re- 
member, then, when you hear the whippoorwill’s call three 
times repeated, you are to come into the bushes where 
the bird might be supposed — ” ’ 

“Stop,” interrupted Heyward; “I will accompany him.” 

“You!” exclaimed the astonished Hawkeye; “are you 
tired of seeing the sun rise and set?” 

“David is a living proof that the Hurons can be merci- 
ful.” 

“Ay, but David can use his throat as no man in his 
senses would pervart the gift.” 

“I too can play the madman, the fool, the hero; in short, 
any or every thing to rescue her I love. Name your objec- 
tions no longer; I am resolved.” 

Hawkeye regarded the young man a moment in speech- 
less amazement. But Duncan, who, in deference to the 
other’s skill and services, had hitherto submitted somewhat 
implicity to his dictation, now assumed the superior, with 
a manner that was not easily resisted. He waved his hand, 


284 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


in sign of his dislike to all remonstrance, and then, in more 
tempered language, he continued, — 

“You have the means of disguise; change me; paint me 
too, if you will; in short, alter me to anything — a fool.” 

“It is not for one like me to say that he who is already 
formed by so powerful a hand as Providence stands in need 
of a change,” muttered the discontented scout. “When 
you send your parties abroad in war, you find it prudent, at 
least, to arrange the marks and places of encampment, in 
order that they who fight on your side may know when 
and where to expect a friend.” 

“Listen,” interrupted Duncan; “you have heard from 
this faithful follower of the captives that the Indians are of 
two tribes, if not of different nations. With one, whom 
you think to be a branch of the Delawares, is she you call 
the ‘dark-hair’; the other, and younger of the ladies, is 
undeniably with our declared enemies, the Hurons. It 
becomes my youth and rank to attempt the latter adven- 
ture. While you, therefore, are negotiating with your 
friends for the release of one of the sisters, I will effect that 
of the other, or die.” 

The awakened spirit of the young soldier gleamed in his 
eyes, and his form became imposing under its infiuence. 
Hawkeye, though too much accustomed to Indian artifices 
not to foresee the danger of the experiment, knew not well 
how to combat this sudden resolution. 

Perhaps there was something in the proposal that suited 
his own hardy nature, and that secret love of desperate 
adventure which had increased with his experience, until 
hazard and danger had become, in some measure, necessary 
to the enjoyment of his existence. Instead of continuing 
to oppose the scheme of Duncan, his humor suddenly al- 
tered, and he lent himself to its execution. 

“Come,” he said, with a good-humored smile; “the 
buck that will take to the water must be headed, and not 
followed. Chingachgook has as many different paints as 
the engineer officer’s wife, who takes down natur’ on scraps 
of paper, making the mountains look like cocks of rusty 
hay, and placing the blue sky in reach of your hand. The 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


2S5 


Sagamore can use them too. Seat yourself on the log; and 
my life on it, he can soon make a natural fool of you, and 
that well to your liking." 

Duncan complied; and the Mohican, who had been an 
attentive listener to the discourse, readily undertook the 
office. Long practiced in all the subtle arts of his race, he 
drew, with great dexterity and quickness, the fantastic 
shadow that the natives were accustomed to consider as the 
evidence of a friendly and jocular disposition. Every line 
that could possibly be interpreted into a secret inclination 
for war was carefully avoided; while, on the other hand, he 
studied those conceits that might be construed into amity. 

In short, he entirely sacrificed every appearance of the 
warrior to the masquerade of a buffoon. Such exhibitions 
were not uncommon among the Indians; and as Duncan 
was already sufficiently disguised in his dress, there cer- 
tainly did exist some reason for believing that, with his 
knowledge of French, he might pass for a juggler from 
Ticonderoga, straggling among the allied and friendly 
tribes. 

When he was thought to be sufficiently painted, the scout 
gave him much friendly advice, concerted signals, and 
appointed the place where they should meet in the event 
of mutual success. The parting between Munro and his 
young friend was more melancholy; still, the former sub- 
mitted to the separation with an indifference that his warm 
and honest nature would never have permitted in a more 
healthful state of mind. The scout led Heyward aside, and 
acquainted him with his intention to leave the veteran in 
some safe encampment, in charge of Chingachgook, while 
he and Uncas pursued their inquiries among the people 
they had reason to believe were Delawares. Then, renewing 
his cautions and advice, he concluded by saying, with a 
solemnity and warmth of feeling with which Duncan was 
deeply touched, — 

"And now God bless you! You have shown a spirit 
that I like; for it is the gift of youth, more especially one 
of warm blood and a stout heart. But believe the warning 
of a man who has reason to know all he says to be true. 


286 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


You will have occasion for your best manhood, and for a 
sharper wit than what is to he gathered in books, afore you 
outdo the cunning or get the better of the courage of a 
Mingo. God bless you! if the Hurons master your scalp, 
rely on the promise of one who has two stout warriors to 
back him. They shall pay for their victory with a life for 
every hair it holds. I say, young gentleman, may Provi- 
dence bless your undertaking, which is altogether for good; 
and remember that to outwit the knaves it is lawful to 
practice things that may not be naturally the gift of a 
white skin.” 

Duncan shook his worthy and reluctant associate warmly 
by the hand, once more recommended his aged friend to 
his care, and, returning his good wishes, he motioned to 
David to proceed. Hawkeye gazed after the high-spir- 
ited and adventurous young man for several moments, 
in open admiration; then, shaking his head doubtingly, he 
turned and led his own division of the party into the con- 
cealment of the forest. 

The route taken by Duncan and David lay directly across 
the clearing of the beavers, and along the margin of their 
pond. 

When the former found himself alone with one so simple, 
and so little qualified to render any assistance in desperate 
emergencies, he first began to be sensible of the difficulties 
of the task he had undertaken. The fading light increased 
the gloominess of the bleak and savage wilderness that 
stretched so far on every side of him; and there was even 
a fearful character in the stillness of those little huts that 
he knew were so abundantly peopled. It struck him, as he 
gazed at the admirable structures and the wonderful pre- 
cautions of their sagacious inmates, that even the brutes 
of these vast wilds were possessed of an instinct nearly 
commensurate with his own reason; and he could not 
reflect, without anxiety, on the unequal contest that he 
had so rashly courted. Then came the glowing image 
of Alice; her distress; her actual danger; and all the 
peril of his situation was forgotten. Cheering David, he 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 287 

moved on with the light and vigorous step of youth and 
enterprise. 

After making nearly a semicircle around the pond, they 
diverged from the water-course and began to ascend to the 
level of a slight elevation in that bottom land over which 
they journeyed. Within half an hour they gained the 
margin of another opening that bore all the signs of having 
been also made by the beavers, and which those sagacious 
animals had probably been induced, by some accident, to 
abandon for the more eligible position they now occupied. 
A very natural sensation caused Duncan to hesitate a 
moment, unwilling to leave the cover of their bushy path, 
as a man pauses to collect his energies before he essays any 
hazardous experiment in which he is secretly conscious 
they will all be needed. He profited by the halt to gather 
such information as might be obtained from his short and 
hasty glances. 

On the opposite side of the clearing, and near the point 
where the brook tumbled over some rocks, from a still 
higher level, some fifty or sixty lodges, rudely fabricated of 
logs, brush, and earth intermingled, were to be discovered. 
They were arranged without any order, and seemed to be 
constructed with very little attention to neatness or beauty. 
Indeed, so very inferior were they in the two latter partic- 
ulars to the village Duncan had just seen, that he began to 
expect a second surprise, no less astonishing than the 
former. This expectation was in no degree diminished 
when, by the doubtful twilight, he beheld twenty or thirty 
forms rising alternately from the cover of the tall, coarse 
grass, in front of the lodges, and then sinking again from 
the sight, as it were to burrow in the earth. By the sudden 
and hasty glimpses that he caught of these figures, they 
seemed more like dark glancing spectres, or some other 
unearthly beings, than creatures fashioned with the ordi- 
nary and vulgar materials of fiesh and blood. A gaunt, 
naked form was seen, for a single instant, tossing its arms 
wildly in the air, and then the spot it had filled was vacant; 
the figure appearing suddenly in some other and distant 
place, or being succeeded by another, possessing the same 


288 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


mysterious character. David, observing that his compan- 
ion lingered, pursued the direction of his gaze, and in some 
measure recalled the recollection of Heyward by speaking. 

“There is much fruitful soil uncultivated here,” he said; 
“and I may add, without the sinful leaven of self-com- 
mendation, that since my short sojourn in these heathen- 
ish abodes much good seed has been scattered by the 
wayside.” 

“The tribes are fonder of the chase than of the arts of 
men of labor,” returned the unconscious Duncan, still gaz- 
ing at the objects of his wonder. 

“It is rather joy than labor to the spirit to lift up the 
voice in praise; but sadly do these boys abuse their gifts. 
Rarely have I found any of their age on whom nature has 
so freely bestowed the elements of psalmody; and surely, 
surely, there are none who neglect them more. Three 
nights have I now tarried here, and three several times have 
I assembled the urchins to join in sacred song; and as often 
have they responded to my efforts with whoopings and 
bowlings that have chilled my soul!” 

“Of whom speak you?” 

“Of those children of the devil, who waste the precious 
moments in yonder idle antics. Ah! the wholesome re- 
straint of discipline is but little known among this self- 
abandoned people. In a country of birches a rod is never 
seen; and it ought not to appear a marvel in my eyes that 
the choicest blessings of Providence are wasted in such 
cries as these.” 

David closed his ears against the juvenile pack, whose 
yell just then rang shrilly through the forest; and Duncan, 
suffering his lip to curl, as in mockery of his own super- 
stition, said firmly, — 

“We will proceed.” 

Without removing the safeguards from his ears, the 
master of song complied, and together they pursued their 
way toward what David was sometimes wont to call “the 
tents of the Philistines.” 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


289 


CHAPTER XXIII 

But though the beast of game 
The privilege of chase may claim; 

Though space and iavr the stag we lend 
Ere hound we slip, or bow we bend; 

Who ever recked where, how, or when 
The prowling fox was trapped or slain? 

—Lady of the Lake. 

It is unusual to find an encampment of the natives, like 
those of the more instructed whites, guarded by the pres- 
ence of armed men. Well informed of the approach of every 
danger, while it is yet at a distance, the Indian generally 
rests secure under his knowledge of the signs of the forest, 
and the long and difllcult paths that separate him from 
those he has most reason to dread. But the enemy who, 
by any lucky concurrence of accidents, has found means to 
elude the vigilance of the scouts, will seldom meet with 
sentinels nearer home to sound the alarm. In addition to 
this general usage, the tribes friendly to the French knew 
too well the weight of the blow that had just been struck, 
to apprehend any immediate danger from the hostile na- 
tions that were tributary to the crown of Britain. 

When Duncan and David, therefore, found themselves 
in the centre of the children who played the antics already 
mentioned, it was without the least previous intimation of 
their approach. But so soon as they were observed, the 
whole of the juvenile pack raised, by common consent, a 
shrill and warning whoop; and then sank, as it were by 
magic, from before the sight of their visitors. The naked, 
tawny bodies of the crouching urchins blended so nicely, at 
that hour, with the withered herbage, that at first it seemed 
as if the earth had, in truth, swallowed up their forms; 
though when surprise permitted Duncan to bend his look 
more curiously about the spot, he found it everywhere met 
by dark, quick, and rolling eyeballs. 

Gathering no encouragement from this startling presage 
of the nature of the scrutiny he was likely to undergo from 
19 


290 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


the more mature judgments of the men, there was an in- 
stant when the young soldier would have retreated. It 
was, however, too late to appear to hesitate. The cry of the 
children had drawn a dozen warriors to the door of the 
nearest lodge, where they stood clustered in a dark and 
savage group, gravely awaiting the nearer approach of those 
who had unexpectedly come among them. 

David, in some measure familiarized to the scene, led the 
way with a steadiness that no slight obstacle was likely to 
disconcert, into this very building. It was the principal 
edifice of the village, though roughly constructed of the 
bark and branches of trees; being the lodge in which the 
tribe held its councils and public meetings during their 
temporary residence on the borders of the English province. 
Duncan found it difllcult to assume the necessary appear- 
ance of unconcern, as he brushed the dark and powerful 
frames of the savages who thronged its threshold; but, 
conscious that his existence depended on his presence of 
mind, he trusted to the discretion of his companion, whose 
footsteps he closely followed, endeavoring, as he proceeded, 
to rally his thoughts for the occasion. His blood curdled 
when he found himself in absolute contact with such 
fierce and implacable enemies; but he so far mastered his 
feelings as to pursue his way into the centre of the lodge, 
with an exterior that did not betray the weakness. Imitat- 
ing the example of the deliberate Gamut, he drew a bundle 
of fragrant brush from beneath a pile that filled a corner 
of the hut, and seated himself in silence. 

So soon as their visitor had passed, the observant war- 
riors fell back from the entrance, and, arranging themselves 
about him, they seemed patiently to await the moment 
when it might comport with the dignity of the stranger to 
speak. By far the greater number stood leaning, in lazy, 
lounging attitudes, against the upright posts that supported 
the crazy building, while three or four of the oldest and 
most distinguished of the chiefs placed themselves on the 
earth a little more in advance. 

A flaring torch was burning in the place, and sent its red 
glare from face to face and figure to figure, as it waved in 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


291 


the currents of air. Duncan profited by its light to read 
the probable character of his reception in the countenances 
of his hosts. But his ingenuity availed him little against 
the cold artifices of the people he had encountered. The 
chiefs in front scarce cast a glance at his person, keeping 
their eyes on the ground, with an air that might have been 
intended for respect, but which it was quite easy to construe 
into distrust. The men in shadow were less reserved. 
Duncan soon detected their searching, but stolen looks, 
which, in truth, scanned his person and attire inch by inch; 
leaving no emotion of the countenance, no gesture, no 
line of the paint, nor even the fashion of a garment, un- 
heeded, and without comment. \ 

At length one whose hair was beginning to be sprinkled 
with gray, but whose sinewy limbs and firm tread an- 
nounced that he was still equal to the duties of manhood, 
advanced out of the gloom of a corner, whither he had 
probably posted himself to make his observations unseen, 
and spoke. He used the language of the Wyandots, or 
Hurons; his words were, consequently, unintelligible to 
Heyward, though they seemed, by the gestures that accom- 
panied them, to be uttered more in courtesy than anger. 
The latter shook his head, and made a gesture indicative of 
his inability to reply. 

“Do none of my brothers speak the French or the Eng- 
lish?” he said, in the former language, looking about him 
from countenance to countenance, in hopes of finding a nod 
of assent. 

Though more than one had turned, as if to catch the 
meaning of his words, they remained unanswered. 

“I should be gi’ieved to think,” continued Duncan, speak- 
ing slowly, and using the simplest French of which he 
was the master, “to believe, that none of this wise and 
brave nation understand the language that the ‘Grand 
Monarque’ uses when he talks to his children. His heart 
would be heavy did he believe his red warriors paid him 
so little respect!” 

A long and grave pause succeeded, during which no 
movement of a limb, nor any expression of an eye, betrayed 


292 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


the impression produced by his remark. Duncan, who 
knew that silence was a virtue among his hosts, gladly 
had recourse to the custom, in order to arrange his ideas. 
At length the same warrior who had before addressed him 
replied, by dryly demanding, in the language of the Cana- 
das/ — 

“When our Great Father speaks to his people, it is with 
the tongue of a Huron?” 

“He knows no difference in his children, whether the 
color of the skin be red, or black, or white,” returned Dun- 
can, evasively; “though chiefly is he satisfled with the brave 
Hurons.” 

“In what manner will he speak,” demanded the wary 
chief, “when the runners count to him the scalps which five 
nights ago grew on the heads of the Yengeese?”® 

“They were his enemies,” said Duncan, shuddering in- 
voluntarily; “and, doubtless, he will say, ‘It is good; my 
Hurons are very gallant.’ ” 

“Our Canada father does not think it. Instead of look- 
ing forward to reward his Indians, his eyes are turned back- 
ward. He sees the dead Yengeese, but no Huron. What 
can this mean?” 

“A great chief, like him, has more thoughts than 
tongues. He looks to see that no enemies are on his 
trail.” 

“The canoe of a dead warrior will not float on the Hori- 
can,” returned the savage, gloomily. “His ears are open 
to the Delawares, who are not our friends, and they fill 
them with lies.” 

“It cannot be. See; he has bid me, who am a man 
that knows the art of healing, to go to his children, 
the red Hurons of the great lakes, and ask if any are 
sick!” 

Another silence succeeded this annunciation of the char- 
acter Duncan had assumed. Every eye was simultaneously 
bent on his person, as if to inquire into the truth or false- 
hood of the declaration, with an intelligence and keenness 

1 French. 

* English. 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


293 


that caused the subject of their scrutiny to tremble for the 
result. He was, however, relieved again by the former 
speaker. 

“Do the cunning men of the Canadas paint their skins?” 
the Huron coldly continued; “we have heard them boast 
that their faces were pale.” 

“When an Indian chief comes among his white fathers,” 
returned Duncan, with great steadiness, “he lays aside his 
buffalo robe, to carry the shirt that is offered him. My 
brothers have given me paint, and I wear it.” 

A low murmur of applause announced that the compli- 
ment to the tribe was favorably received. The elderly chief 
made a gesture of commendation, which was answered by 
most of his companions, who each threw forth a hand, and 
uttered a brief exclamation of pleasure. Duncan began to 
breathe more freely, believing that the weight of his exami- 
nation was past; and as he had already prepared a simple 
and probable tale to support his pretended occupation, his 
hopes of ultimate success grew brighter. 

After a silence of a few moments, as if adjusting his 
thoughts in order to make a suitable answer to the declara- 
tion their guest had just given, another warrior arose, and 
placed himself in an attitude to speak. While his lips were 
yet in the act of parting, a low but fearful sound arose from 
the forest, and was immediately succeeded by a high, shrill 
yell, that was drawn out until it equalled the longest and 
most plaintive howl of the wolf. The sudden and terrible 
interruption caused Duncan to start from his seat, uncon- 
scious of everything but the effect produced by so frightful 
a cry. At the same moment, the warriors glided in a body 
from the lodge, and the outer air was filled with loud shouts 
that nearly drowned those awful sounds which were still 
ringing beneath the arches of the woods. Unable to com- 
mand himself any longer, the youth broke from the place, 
and presently stood in the centre of a disorderly throng that 
included nearly everything having life, within the limits 
of the encampment. Men, women, and children; the aged, 
the infirm, the active, and the strong, were alike abroad; 
some exclaiming aloud, others clapping their hands with a 


294 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


joy that seemed frantic, and all expressing their savage 
pleasure in some unexpected event. Though astounded, at 
first, by the uproar, Heyward was soon enabled to find its 
solution by the scene that followed. 

There yet lingered sufiicient light in the heavens to ex- 
hibit those bright openings among the tree-tops where dif- 
ferent paths left the clearing to enter the depths of the wil- 
derness. Beneath one of them a line of warriors issued 
from the woods and advanced slowly toward the dwellings. 
One in front bore a short pole, on which, as it afterward 
appeared, were suspended several human scalps. The start- 
ling sounds that Duncan had heard were what the whites 
have not inappropriately called the “death-halloo”; and 
each repetition of the cry was intended to announce to the 
tribe the fate of an enemy. Thus far the knowledge of Hey- 
ward assisted him in the explanation; and as he now knew 
that the interruption was caused by the unlooked-for return 
of a successful war-party, every disagreeable sensation was 
quieted in inward congratulation for the opportune relief 
and insignificance it conferred on himself. 

When at the distance of a few hundred feet from the 
lodges, the newly arrived warriors halted. Their plaintive 
and terrific cry, which was intended to represent equally the 
wailings for the dead and the triumph of the victors, had 
entirely ceased. One of their number now called aloud, in 
words that were far from appalling, though not more intel- 
ligible to those for whose ears they were intended, than 
their expressive yells. It would be difficult to convey a 
suitable idea of the savage ecstasy with which the news thus 
imparted was received. The whole encampment, in a 
moment, became a scene of the most violent bustle and 
commotion. The warriors drew their knives, and, flourish- 
ing them, they arranged themselves in two lines, forming a 
lane that extended from the war-party to the lodges. The 
squaws seized clubs, axes, or whatever weapon of offense 
first offered itself to their hands, and rushed eagerly to act 
their part in the cruel game that was at hand. Even the 
children would not be excluded; but boys, little able to 
wield the instruments, tore the tomahawks from the belts 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 295 

of their fathers, and stole into the ranks, apt imitators of 
the savage traits exhibited by their parents. 

Large piles of brush lay scattered about the clearing, and 
a wary and aged squaw was occupied in firing as many as 
might serve to light the coming exhibition. As the flame 
arose, its power exceeded that of the parting day, and as- 
sisted to render objects at the same time more distinct and 
more hideous. The whole scene formed a striking picture, 
whose frame was composed of the dark and tall border of 
pines. The v/arriors just arrived were the most distant 
figures. A little in advance stood two men who were 
apparently selected from the rest as the principal actors in 
what was to follow. The light was not strong enough to 
render their features distinct, though it was quite evident 
that they were governed by very different emotions. While 
one stood erect and firm, prepared to meet his fate like a 
hero, the other bowed his head, as if palsied by terror or 
stricken with shame. The high spirited Duncan felt a 
powerful impulse of admiration and pity towards the 
former, though no opportunity could offer to exhibit his 
generous emotions. He watched his slightest movement, 
however, with eager eyes; and, as he traced the fine outline 
of his admirably proportioned and active frame, he en- 
deavored to persuade himself that if the powers of man, 
seconded by such noble resolution, could bear one harmless 
through so severe a trial, the youthful captive before him 
might hope for success in the hazardous race he was about 
to run. Insensibly the young man drew nigher to the 
swarthy lines of the Hurons, and scarcely breathed, so in- 
tense became his interest in the spectacle. Just then the 
signal yell was given, and the momentary quiet which had 
preceded it was broken by a burst of cries that far exceeded 
any before heard. The most abject of the two victims 
continued motionless; but the other bounded from the 
place at the cry, with the activity and swiftness of a deer. 
Instead of rushing through the hostile lines, as had been 
expected, he just entered the dangerous defile, and before 
time was given for a single blow, turned short, and leaping 
the heads of a row of children, he gained at once the ex- 


296 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


terior and safer side of the formidable array. The artifice 
was answered by a hundred voices raised in imprecations; 
and the whole of the excited multitude broke from their 
order, and spread themselves about the place in wild con- 
fusion. 

A dozen blazing piles now shed their lurid brightness on 
the place, which resembled some unhallowed and supernat- 
ural arena, in which malicious demons had assembled to act 
their bloody and lawless rites. The forms in the back- 
ground looked like unearthly beings, gliding before the eye, 
and cleaving the air with frantic and unmeaning gestures; 
while the savage passions of such as passed the flames were 
rendered fearfully distinct by the gleams that shot athwart 
their inflamed visages. 

It will easily be understood that, amid such a concourse 
of vindictive enemies, no breathing time was allowed the 
fugitive. There was a single moment when it seemed as if 
he would have reached the forest, but the whole body of 
his captors threw themselves before him, and drove him 
back into the centre of his relentless persecutors. Turning 
like a headed deer, he shot, with the swiftness of an arrow, 
through a pillar of forked flame, and, passing the whole 
multitude harmless, he appeared on the opposite side of 
the clearing. Here too he was met and turned by a few 
of the older and more subtle of the Hurons. Once more 
he tried the throng, as if seeking safety in its blindness, 
and then several moments succeeded, during which Dun- 
can believed the active and courageous young stranger was 
lost. 

Nothing could be distinguished but a dark mass of hu- 
man forms tossed and involved in inextricable confusion. 
Arms, gleaming knives, and formidable clubs appeared 
above them, but the blows were evidently given at random. 
The awful effect was heightened by the piercing shrieks of 
the women and the fierce yells of the warriors. Now and 
then Duncan caught a glimpse of a light form cleaving the 
air in some desperate bound, and he rather hoped than 
believed that the captive yet retained the command of his 
astonishing powers of activity. Suddenly the multitude 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


297 


rolled backward, and approached the spot where he himself 
stood. The heavy body in the rear pressed upon the women 
and children in front, and bore them to the earth. The 
stranger reappeared in the confusion. Human power could 
not, however, much longer endure so severe a trial. Of 
this the captive seemed conscious. Profiting by the mo- 
mentary opening, he darted from among the warriors, and 
made a desperate, and, what seemed to Duncan, a final effort 
^ to gain the wood. As if aware that no danger was to be 
apprehended from the young soldier, the fugitive nearly 
r brushed his person in his flight. A tall and powerful Hu- 
j ron, who had husbanded his forces, pressed close upon his 
!, heels, and with an uplifted arm menaced a fatal blow. 
I’ Duncan thrust forth a foot, and the shock precipitated the 
eager savage headlong, many feet in advance of his in- 
! tended victim. Thought itself is not quicker than was the 
motion with which the latter profited by the advantage; he 
turned, gleamed like a meteor again before the eyes of Dun- 
y can, and at the next moment, when the latter recovered his 
recollection and gazed around in quest of the captive, he 
% saw him quietly leaning against a small painted post, which 
1 stood before the door of the principal lodge. 

Apprehensive that the part he had taken in the escape 
i might prove fatal to himself, Duncan left the place without 
"s delay. He followed the crowd, which drew nigh the lodges, 
‘ gloomy and sullen, like any other multitude that had been 
n- disappointed in an execution. Curiosity, or perhaps a bet- 
I ter feeling, induced him to approach the stranger. He 
f found him standing with one arm cast about the protecting 
post, and breathing thick and hard, after his exertions, but 
^ ’ disdaining to permit a single sign of suffering to escape. 
^ His person was now protected by immemorial and sacred 
usage,^ until the tribe in council had deliberated and deter- 
mined on his fate. It was not difficult, however, to foretell 
the result, if any presage could be drawn from the feelings 
of those who crowded the place. 

There was no term of abuse known to the Huron vocab- 
ulary that the disappointed women did not lavishly expend 

1 What Hebrew custom does this recall? Cf. Num. xxxy, 11, ff. 


298 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


on the successful stranger. They flouted at his efforts, and 
told him, with bitter scoffs, that his feet were better than 
his hands; and that he merited wings, while he knew not 
the use of an arrow or a knife. To all this the captive 
made no reply; but was content to preserve an attitude in 
which dignity was singularly blended with disdain. Exas- 
perated as much by his composure as by his good-fortune, 
their words became unintelligible, and were succeeded by 
shrill, piercing yells. Just then the crafty squaw who had 
taken the necessary precaution to Are the piles, made her 
way through the throng, and cleared a place for herself 
in front of the captive. The squalid and withered person 
of this hag might well have obtained for her the character 
of possessing more than human cunning. Throwing back 
her light vestment, she stretched forth her long skinny 
arm in derision; and, using the language of the Lenape, as 
more intelligible to the subject of her gibes, she commenced 
aloud, — 

“Look you, Delaware!” she said, snapping her Angers 
in his face; “your nation is a race of women, and the hoe 
is better fitted to your hands than the gun. Your squaws 
are the mothers of deer; but if a bear, or a wild cat, or a 
serpent were born among you, ye would flee. The Huron 
girls shall make you petticoats, and we will find you a 
husband.” 

A burst of savage laughter succeeded this attack, during 
which the soft and musical merriment of the younger fe- 
males strangely chimed with the cracked voice of their 
older and more malignant companion. But the stranger 
was superior to all their efforts. His head was immovable; 
nor did he betray the slightest consciousness that any were 
present, except when his haughty eye rolled toward the 
dusky forms of the warriors who stalked in the background, 
silent and sullen observers of the scene. 

Infuriated at the self-command of the captive, the woman 
placed her arms akimbo; and, throwing herself into a 
posture of defiance, she broke out anew, in a torrent of 
words that no art of ours could commit successfully to 
paper. Her breath was, however, expended in vain; for. 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


299 


although distinguished in her nation as a proficient in 
the art of abuse, she was permitted to work herself into 
such a fury as actually to foam at the mouth, without caus-- 
ing a muscle to vibrate in the motionless figure of the 
stranger. The effect of his indifference began to extend it- 
self to the other spectators; and a youngster, who was just 
quitting the condition of a boy to enter the state of man- 
hood, attempted to assist the termagant by flourishing his 
tomahawk before their victim, and adding his empty boasts 
to the taunts of the woman. Then, indeed, the captive 
turned his face toward the light, and looked down on the 
stripling with an expression that was superior to contempt. 
At the next moment he resumed his quiet and reclining atti- 
tude against the post. But the change of posture had per- 
mitted Duncan to exchange glances with the firm and pierc- 
ing eyes of Uncas. 

Breathless with amazement, and heavily oppressed with 
the critical situation of his friend, Heyward recoiled before 
the look, trembling lest its meaning might, in some un- 
known manner, hasten the prisoner’s fate. There was not, 
however, any instant cause for such an apprehension. Just 
then a warrior forced his way into the exasperated crowd. 
Motioning the women and children aside with a stern ges- 
ture, he took Uncas by the arm and led him toward the 
door of the council lodge. Thither all the chiefs, and most 
of the distinguished warriors, followed; among whom the 
anxious Heyward found means to enter without attracting 
any dangerous attention to himself. 

A few minutes were consumed in disposing of those 
present in a manner suitable to their rank and influence in 
the tribe. An order very similar to that adopted in the pre- 
ceding interview was observed; the aged and superior chiefs 
occupying the area of the spacious apartment, within the 
powerful light of a glaring torch, while their juniors and 
inferiors were arranged in the background, presenting a 
dark outline of swarthy and marked visages. In the very 
centre of the lodge, immediately under an opening that 
admitted the twinkling light of one or two stars, stood 
Uncas, calm, elevated, and collected. His high and haughty 


300 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


carriage was not lost on his captors, who often bent 
their looks on his person with eyes which, while they 
lost none of their inflexibility of purpose, plainly betrayed 
their admiration of the stranger’s daring. 

The case was different with the individual whom Duncan 
had observed to stand forth with his friend, previously to 
the desperate trial of speed; and who, instead of joining in 
the chase, had remained, throughout its turbulent uproar, 
like a cringing statue, expressive of shame and disgrace. 
Though not a hand had been extended to greet him, nor yet 
an eye had condescended to watch his movements, he had 
also entered the lodge, as though impelled by a fate to 
whose decrees he submitted, seemingly, without a struggle. 
Heyward profited by the first opportunity to gaze in his face, 
secretly apprehensive he might And the features of another 
acquaintance; but they proved to be those of a stranger, 
and, what was still more inexplicable, of one who bore all 
the distinctive marks of a Huron warrior. Instead of 
mingling with his tribe, however, he sat apart, a solitary 
being in a multitude, his form shrinking into a crouching 
and abject attitude, as if anxious to All as little space as 
possible. When each individual had taken his proper sta- 
tion, and silence reigned in the place, the gray-haired chief 
already introduced to the reader spoke aloud, in the lan- 
guage of the Lenni Lenape. 

“Delaware,” he said, “though one of a nation of women, 
you have proved yourself a man. I would give you food; 
but he who eats with a Huron should become his friend. 
Rest in peace till the morning sun, when our last words 
shall be spoken.” 

“Seven nights, and as many summer days, have I fasted 
on the trail of the Hurons,” Uncas coldly replied; “the 
children of the Lenape know how to travel the path of the 
just without lingering to eat.” 

“Two of my young men are in pursuit of your compan- 
ion,” resumed the other, without appearing to regard the 
boast of his captive; “when they get back, then will our 
wise men say to you ‘live’ or ‘die.’ ” 

“Has a Huron no ears?” scornfully exclaimed Uncas; 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


301 


“twice, since he has been your prisoner, has the Delaware 
heard a gun that he knows. Your young men will never 
come back!” 

A short and sullen pause succeeded this bold assertion. 
Duncan, who understood the Mohican to allude to the fatal 
rifle of the scout, bent forward in earnest observation of the 
effect it might produce on the conquerors, but the chief 
was content with simply retorting, — 

“If the Lenape are so skillful, why is one of their bravest 
warriors here?” 

“He followed in the steps of a flying coward, and fell 
into a snare. The cunning beaver may be caught.” 

As Uncas thus replied, he pointed with his finger toward 
the solitary Huron, but without deigning to bestow any 
other notice on so unworthy an object. The words of the 
answer and the air of the speaker produced a strong sensa- 
tion among his auditors. Every eye rolled sullenly toward 
the individual indicated by the simple gesture, and a low, 
threatening murmur passed through the crowd. The 
ominous sounds reached the outer door; and, the women 
and children pressing into the throng, no gap had been 
left, between shoulder and shoulder, that was not now filled 
with the dark lineaments of some eager and curious human 
countenance. 

In the meantime the more aged chiefs, in the centre, 
communed with each other in short and broken sentences. 
Not a word was uttered that did not convey the meaning 
of the speaker, in the simplest and most energetic form. 
Again, a long and deeply solemn pause took place. It was 
known by all present to be the grave precursor of a weighty 
and important judgment. They who composed the outer 
circle of faces were on tiptoe to gaze; and even the culprit 
for an instant forgot his shame in a deeper emotion, and 
exposed his abject features in order to cast an anxious and 
troubled glance at the dark assemblage of chiefs. The 
silence was finally broken by the aged warrior so often 
named. He arose from the earth, and, moving past the 
immovable form of Uncas, placed himself in a dignified 
attitude before the offender. At that moment the withered 


302 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


squaw already mentioned moved into the circle, in a slow, 
sideling sort of a dance, holding the torch, and muttering 
the indistinct words of what might have been a species of 
incantation. Though her presence was altogether an intru- 
sion, it was unheeded. 

Approaching Uncas, she held the blazing brand in such a 
manner as to cast its red glare on his person, and to expose 
the slightest emotion of his countenance. The Mohican 
maintained his firm and haughty attitude; and his eye, so 
far from deigning to meet her inquisitive look, dwelt stead- 
ily on the distance, as though it penetrated the obstacles 
which impeded the view, and looked into futurity. Satis- 
fied with her examination, she left him, with a slight ex- 
pression of pleasure, and proceeded to practice the same 
trying experiment on her delinquent countryman. 

The young Huron was in his war paint, and very little 
of a finely moulded form was concealed by his attire. The 
light rendered every limb and joint discernible, and Dun- 
can turned away in horror when he saw they were writh- 
ing in irrepressible agony. The woman was commencing 
a low and plaintive howl at the sad and shameful spec- 
tacle, when the chief put forth his hand and gently pushed 
her aside. 

“Reed-that-bends,” he said, addressing the young cul- 
prit by name, and in his proper language, “though the 
Great Spirit has made you pleasant to the eyes, it would 
have been better that you had not been born. Your tongue 
is loud in the village, but in battle it is still. None of my 
young men strikes the tomahawk deeper into the war-post 
— none of them so lightly on the Yengeese. The enemy 
know the shape of your back, but they have never seen 
the color of your eyes. Three times have they called on 
you to come, and as often did you forget to answer. Your 
name will never be mentioned again in your tribe— -it is 
already forgotten.” 

As the chief slowly uttered these words, pausing impres- 
sively between each sentence, the culprit raised his face, in 
deference to the other’s rank and years. Shame, horror, 
and pride struggled in its lineaments. His eye, which was 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


303 


contracted with inward anguish, gleamed on the persons of 
those whose breath was his fame; and the latter emotion 
for an instant predominated. He arose to his feet, and, 
baring his bosom, looked steadily on the keen, glittering 
knife that was already upheld by his inexorable judge. As 
the weapon passed slowly into his heart he even smiled, as 
if in joy at having found death less dreadful than he had 
anticipated, and fell heavily on his face, at the feet of the 
rigid and unyielding form of Uncas. 

The squaw gave a loud and plaintive yell, dashed the 
torch to the earth, and buried everything in darkness. The 
whole shuddering group of spectators glided from the lodge, 
like troubled sprites; and Duncan thought that he and the 
yet throbbing body of the victim of an Indian judgment had 
now become its only tenants. 


CHAPTER XXIV 

Thus spoke the sage: the kings without delay 
Dissolve the council and their chief obey. 

—Pope’s Iliad. 

A single moment served to convince the youth that he 
was mistaken. A hand was laid, with a powerful pressure, 
on his arm, and the low voice of Uncas muttered in his 
ears, — 

“The Hurons are dogs. The sight of a coward’s blood 
can never make a warrior tremble. The ‘Gray Head’ and 
the Sagamore are safe, and the rifle of Hawkeye is not 
asleep. Go,— Uncas and the ‘Open Hand’ are now stran- 
gers. It is enough.” 

Heyward would gladly have heard more, but a gentle 
push from his friend urged him toward the door, and 
admonished him of the danger that might attend the dis- 
covery of their intercourse. Slov/ly and reluctantly yield- 
ing to the necessity, he quitted the place, and mingled with 
the throng- that hovered nigh. The dying flres in the 
clearing cast a dim and uncertain light on the dusky flgures 
that were silently stalking to and fro; and occasionally a 


304 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


brighter gleam than common glanced into the lodge, and 
exhibited the figure of Uncas still maintaining its upright 
attitude near the dead body of the Huron. 

A knot of warriors soon entered the place again, and, 
reissuing, they bore the senseless remains into the adjacent 
woods. After this termination of the scene, Duncan 
wandered among the lodges, unquestioned and unnoticed, 
endeavoring to find some trace of her in whose behalf he 
incurred the risk he ran. In the present temper of the tribe 
it would have been easy to have fled and rejoined his com- 
panions, had such a wish crossed his mind. But, in addi- 
tion to the never-ceasing anxiety on account of Alice, a 
fresher though feebler interest in the fate of Uncas assisted 
to chain him to the spot. He continued, therefore, to stray 
from hut to hut, looking into each only to encounter addi- 
tional disappointment, until he had made the entire circuit 
of the village. Abandoning a species of inquiry that proved 
so fruitless, he retraced his steps to the council lodge, re- 
solved to seek and question David, in order to put an end 
to his doubts. 

On reaching the building which had proved alike the seat 
of judgment and the place of execution, the young man 
found that the excitement had already subsided. The war- 
riors had reassembled, and were now calmly smoking, while 
they conversed gravely on the chief incidents of their recent 
expedition to the head of the Horican. Though the return 
of Duncan was likely to remind them of his character and 
the suspicious circumstances of his visit, it produced no 
visible sensation. So far, the terrible scene that had just 
occurred proved favorable to his views, and he required no 
other prompter than his own feelings to convince him 
of the expediency of profiting by so unexpected an advan- 
tage. 

Without seeming to hesitate, he walked into the lodge, 
and took his seat with a gravity that accorded admirably 
with the deportment of his hosts. A hasty but searching 
glance sufficed to tell him that, though Uncas still remained 
where he had left him, David had not reappeared. No 
other restraint was imposed on the former than the watch- 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


305 


ful looks of a young Huron, who had placed himself at 
hand; though an armed warrior leaned against the post that 
formed one side of the narrow doorway. In every other 
respect, the captive seemed at liberty; still, he was ex- 
cluded from all participation in the discourse, and possessed 
much more of the air of some finely moulded statue than a 
man having life and volition. 

Heyward had too recently witnessed a frightful instance 
of the prompt punishments of the people into whose hands 
he had fallen, to hazard an exposure by any officious bold- 
ness. He would greatly have preferred silence and medita- 
tion to speech, when a discovery of his real condition might 
prove so instantly fatal. Unfortunately for this prudent 
resolution, his entertainers appeared otherwise disposed. 
He had not long occupied the seat wisely taken a little 
in the shade, when another of the elder warriors, who spoke 
the French language, addressed him: — 

“My Canada father does not forget his children,” said 
the chief; “I thank him. An evil spirit lives in the wife 
of one of my young men. Can the cunning stranger 
frighten him away?” 

Heyward possessed some knowledge of the mummery 
practiced among the Indians, in the cases of such supposed 
visitations. He saw, at a glance, that the circumstance 
might possibly be improved to further his own ends. It 
would, therefore, have been difficult, just then, to have 
uttered a proposal that would have given him more satis- 
faction. Aware of the necessity of preserving the dignity 
of his imaginary character, however, he repressed his feel- 
ings, and answered with suitable mystery, — 

“Spirits differ; some yield to the power of wisdom, while 
others are too strong.” 

“My brother is a great medicine,” said the cunning 
savage; “he will try?” 

A gesture of assent was the answer. The Huron was 
content with the assurance, and, resuming his pipe, he 
awaited the proper moment to move. The impatient Hey- 
ward, inwardly execrating the cold customs of the savages, 
which required such sacrifices to appearance, was fain to 
20 


306 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


assume an air of indifference equal to that maintained by 
the chief, who was, in truth, a near relative of the afflicted 
woman. The minutes lingered, and the delay had seemed 
an hour to the adventurer in empiricism, when the Huron 
laid aside his pipe and drew his robe across his breast, as if 
about to lead the way to the lodge of the invalid. Just 
then, a warrior of powerful frame darkened the door, and 
stalking silently among the attentive group, he seated him- 
self on one end of the low pile of brush which sustained 
Duncan. The latter cast an impatient look at his neighbor, 
and felt his flesh creep with uncontrollable horror when he 
found himself in actual contact with Magua. 

The sudden return of this artful and dreaded chief 
caused a delay in the departure of the Huron. Several 
pipes that had been extinguished were lighted again; while 
the newcomer, without speaking a word, drew his tomahawk 
from his girdle, and Ailing the bowl on its head, began to 
inhale the vapors of the weed through the hollow handle, 
with as much indifference as if he had not been absent two 
weary days on a long and toilsome hunt. Ten minutes, 
which appeared so many ages to Duncan, might have passed 
in this manner; and the warriors were fairly enveloped 
in a cloud of white smoke before any of them spoke. 

“Welcome!” one at length uttered; “has my friend found 
the moose?” 

“The young men stagger under their burdens,” returned 
Magua. “Let ‘Reed-that-bends’ go on the hunting-path; he 
will meet them.” 

A deep and awful silence succeeded the utterance of the 
forbidden name. Each pipe dropped from the lips of its 
owner as though all had inhaled an impurity at the same 
instant. The smoke wreathed above their heads in little 
eddies, and curling in a spiral form, it ascended swiftly 
through the opening in the roof of the lodge, leaving the 
place beneath clear of its fumes, and each dark visage dis- 
tinctly visible. The looks of most of the warriors were 
riveted on the earth; though a few of the younger and less 
gifted of the party suffered their wild and glaring eyeballs 
to roll in the direction of a white-headed savage who sat 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


307 


j. between two of the most venerated chiefs of the tribe. 
5 There was nothing in the air or attire of this Indian that 
' would seem to entitle him to such a distinction. The 
former was rather depressed, than remarkable for the bear- 
* ing of the natives; and the latter was such as was com- 
y monly worn by the ordinary men of the nation. Like most 
■■ around him, for more than a minute his look too was on 
the ground; but, trusting his eyes at length to steal a 
, glance aside, he perceived that he was becoming an object of 
general attention. Then he arose and lifted his voice in the 
^ general silence. 

“It was a lie,” he said; “I had no son. He who was 
j, called by that name is forgotten; his blood was pale, and 
I it came not from the veins of a Huron; the wicked Chippe- 
was cheated my squaw. The Great Spirit has said that 
the family of Wiss-en-tush should end; he is happy who 
I knows that the evil of his race dies with himself. I have 
; done.” 

j The speaker, who was the father of the recreant young 
' Indian, looked around and about him as if seeking commen- 

I " dation of his stoicism in the eyes of his auditors. But the 
stern customs of his people had made too severe an exaction 
- of the feeble old man. The expression of his eye contra- 
dicted his figurative and boastful language, while every 
I muscle in his wrinkled visage was working with anguish. 
Standing a single minute to enjoy his bitter triumph, he 
turned away, as if sickening at the gaze of men, and, veiling 
his face in his blanket, he walked from the lodge with the 
noiseless step of an Indian, seeking, in the privacy of his 
own abode, the sympathy of one like himself, aged, for- 
lorn, and childless. 

The Indians, who believe in the hereditary transmission 
of virtues and defects in character, suffered him to depart in 
silence. Then, with an elevation of breeding that many in 
a more cultivated state of society might profitably emulate, 
one of the chiefs drew the attention of the young men from 
the weakness they had just witnessed, by saying, in a cheer- 
ful voice, addressing himself in courtesy to Magua, as the 
i newest comer, — 


308 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


“The Delawares have been like bears after the honey- 
pots, prowling around my village. But who has ever found 
a Huron asleep?” 

The darkness of the impending cloud which precedes a 
burst of thunder was not blacker than the brow of Magua 
as he exclaimed, — 

“The Delawares of the Lakes!” 

“Not so. They who wear the petticoats of squaws, on 
their own river. One of them has been passing the 
tribe.” 

“Did my young men take his scalp?” 

“His legs were good, though his arm is better for the hoe 
than the tomahawk,” returned the other, pointing to the 
immovable form of Uncas. 

Instead of manifesting any womanish curiosity to feast 
his eyes with the sight of a captive from a people he was 
known to have so much reason to hate, Magua continued to 
smoke, with the meditative air that he usually maintained 
when there was no immediate call on his cunning or his 
eloquence. Although secretly amazed at the facts com- 
municated by the speech of the aged father, he permitted 
himself to ask no questions, reserving his inquiries for a 
more suitable moment. It was only after a sufficient inter- 
val that he shook the ashes from his pipe, replaced the 
tomahawk, tightened his girdle, and arose, casting for the 
first time a glance in the direction of the prisoner, who 
stood a little behind him. The wary, though seemingly 
abstracted Uncas caught a glimpse of the movement, and, 
turning suddenly to the light, their looks met. Near a 
minute these two bold and untamed spirits stood regarding 
one another steadily in the eye, neither quailing in the 
least before the fierce gaze he encountered. The form of 
Uncas dilated, and his nostrils opened like those of a tiger 
at bay; but so rigid and unyielding was his posture that he 
might easily have been converted by the imagination into 
an exquisite and faultless representation of the warlike 
deity of his tribe. The lineaments of the quivering fea- 
tures of Magua proved more ductile; his countenance grad- 
ually lost its character of defiance in an expression of 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


309 


ferocious joy; and, heaving a breath from the very bottom 
of his chest, he pronounced aloud the formidable name 


r- 


I 

i 

I 

I 

i 


of — 

“Le Cerf Agile!’* 

Each warrior sprang upon his feet at the utterance of 
the well-known appellation, .and there was a short period 
during which the stoical constancy of the natives was com- 
pletely conquered by surprise. The hated and yet respected 
name was repeated as by one voice, carrying the sound even 
beyond the limits of the lodge. The women and children, 
who lingered around the entrance, took up the words in an 
echo which was succeeded by another shrill and plaintive 
howl. The latter was not yet ended when the sensation 
among the men had entirely abated. Each one in presence 
seated himself, as though ashamed of his precipitation; but 
it was many minutes before their meaning eyes ceased to 
roll toward their captive, in curious examination of a 
warrior who had so often proved his prowess on the best 
and proudest of their nation. Uncas enjoyed his victory, 
but was content with merely exhibiting his triumph by a 
quiet smile — an emblem of scorn which belongs to all time 
and every nation. 

Magua caught the expression, and raising his arm, he 
shook it at the captive, the light silver ornaments attached 
to his bracelet rattling with the trembling agitation of 
the limb, as, in a tone of vengeance, he exclaimed, in 
English, — 

“Mohican, you die!” 

“The healing waters will never bring the dead Hurons to 
life,” returned Uncas, in the music of the Delawares; “the 
tumbling river washes their bones; their men are squaws; 
their women owls. Go! call together the Huron dogs, that 
they may look upon a warrior. My nostrils are offended; 
they scent the blood of a coward.” 

The latter allusion struck deep, and the injury rankled. 
Many of the Hurons understood the strange tongue in 
which the captive spoke, among which number was Magua. 
This cunning savage beheld, and instantly profited by his 
advantage. Dropping the light robe of skin from his 


310 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


shoulder, he stretched forth his arm, and commenced a 
burst of his dangerous and artful eloquence. However 
much his influence among his people had been impaired by 
his occasional and besetting weakness, as well as by his 
desertion of the tribe, his courage and his fame as an orator 
were undeniable. He never 'spoke without auditors, and 
rarely without making converts to his opinions. On the 
present occasion his native powers were stimulated by the 
thirst of revenge. 

He again recounted the events of the attack on the island 
at Glenn’s, the death of his associates, and the escape of 
their most formidable enemies. Then he described the 
nature and position of the mount whither he had led such 
captives as had fallen into their hands. Of his own blocdy 
intentions toward the maidens, and of his baffled malice, 
he made no mention, but passed rapidly on to the surprise 
of the party by La Longue Carabine, and its fatal termina- 
tion. Here he paused, and looked about him in affected 
veneration for the departed, but, in truth, to note the effect 
of his opening narrative. As usual, every eye was riveted 
on his face. Each dusky figure seemed a breathing statue, 
so motionless was the posture, so intense the attention of 
the individual. 

Then Magua dropped his voice, which had hitherto been 
clear, strong, and elevated, and touched upon the merits of 
the dead. No quality that was likely to command the sym- 
pathy of an Indian escaped his notice. One had never been 
known to follow the chase in vain; another had been inde- 
fatigable on the trail of their enemies. This was brave, 
that generous. In short, he so managed his allusions that 
in a nation which was composed of so few families he con- 
trived to strike every chord that might find, in its turn, 
some breast in which to vibrate. 

“Are the bones of my young men,” he concluded, “in 
the burial-place of the Hurons? You know they are not. 
Their spirits are gone toward the setting sun, and are 
already crossing the great waters, to the happy hunting- 
grounds. But they departed without food, without guns 
or knives, without moccasins, naked and poor as they were 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


311 


born. Shall this be? Are their souls to enter the land of 
the just like hungry Iroquois or unmanly Delawares; or 
shall they meet their friends with arms in their hands and 
robes on their backs? What will our fathers think the 
tribes of the Wyandots have become? They will look on 
their children with a dark eye, and say, ‘Go! a Chippewa has 
come hither with the name of a Huron.’ Brothers, we must 
not forget the dead; a redskin never ceases to remember. 
We will load the back of this Mohican until he staggers 
under our bounty, and dispatch him after my young men. 
They call to us for aid, though our ears are not open; they 
say, ‘Forget us not.’ When they see the spirit of this Mohi- 
can toiling after them with his burden, they will know we 
are of that mind. Then will they go on happy; and our 
children will say, ‘So did our fathers to their friends, so 
must we do to them.’ What is a Yengee? we have slain 
many, but the earth is still pale. A stain on the name of a 
Huron can only be hid by blood that comes from the veins 
of an Indian. Let this Delaware die.” 

The effect of such an harangue, delivered in the nervous 
language and with the emphatic manner of a Huron orator, 
could scarcely be mistaken. Magua had so artfully blended 
the natural sympathies with the religious superstition of his 
auditors, that their minds, already prepared by custom to 
sacrifice a victim to the manes of their countrymen, lost 
every vestige of humanity in a wish for revenge. One war- 
rior in particular, a man of wild and ferocious mien, had 
been conspicuous for the attention he had given to the 
words of the speaker. His countenance had changed with 
each passing emotion, until it settled into a look of deadly 
malice. As Magua ended he arose, and, uttering the yell of 
a demon, his polished little axe was seen glancing in the 
torch-light as he whirled it above his head. The motion 
and the cry were too sudden for words to interrupt his 
bloody intention. It appeared as if a bright gleam shot 
from his hand, which was crossed at the same moment by a 
dark and powerful line. The former was the tomahawk in 
its passage; the latter the arm that Magua darted forward 
to divert its aim. The quick and ready motion of the chief 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


was not entirely too late. The keen weapon cut the war- 
plume from the scalping-tuft of Uncas, and passed through 
the frail wall of the lodge, as though it were hurled from 
some formidable engine. 

Duncan had seen the threatening action, and sprang 
upon his feet, with a heart which, while it leaped into his 
throat, swelled with the most generous resolution in behalf 
of his friend. A glance told him that the blow had failed, 
and terror changed to admiration. Uncas stood still, look- 
ing his enemy in the eye, with features that seemed superior 
to emotion. Marble could not be colder, calmer, or steadier 
than the countenance he put upon this sudden and vindic- 
tive attack. Then, as if pitying a want of skill which had 
proved so fortunate to himself, he smiled, and muttered a 
few words of contempt in his own tongue. 

“No!’' said Magua, after satisfying himself of the safety 
of the captive; “the sun must shine on his shame; the 
squaws must see his flesh tremble, or our revenge will be 
like the play of boys. Go! take him where there is silence; 
let us see if a Delaware can sleep at night, and in the morn- 
ing die.” 

The young men whose duty it was to guard the prisoner 
instantly passed their ligaments of bark across his arms, 
and led him from the lodge, amid a profound and ominous 
silence. It was only as the figure of Uncas stood in the 
opening of the door that his Arm step hesitated. There he 
turned, and, in the sweeping and haughty glance that he 
threw around the circle of his enemies, Duncan caught a 
look which he was glad to construe into an expression that 
he was not entirely deserted by hope. 

Magua was content with his success, or too much occu- 
pied with his secret purposes to push his inquiries any 
further. Shaking his mantle and folding it on his bosom, 
he also quitted the place, without pursuing a subject which 
might have proved so fatal to the individual at his elbow. 
Notwithstanding his rising resentment, his natural firmness, 
and his anxiety in behalf of Uncas, Heyward felt sensibly 
relieved by the absence of so dangerous and so subtle a foe. 
The excitement produced by the speech gradually subsided. 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


313 


The warriors resumed their seats, and clouds of smoke once 
more filled the lodge. For near half an hour, not a syllable 
was uttered, or scarcely a look cast aside; a grave and medi- 
tative silence being the ordinary succession to every scene 
of violence and commotion amongst those beings, who were 
alike so impetuous and yet so self-restrained. 

When the chief who had solicited the aid of Duncan 
finished his pipe, he made a final and successful movement 
toward departing. A motion of a finger was the intima- 
tion he gave the supposed physician to follow; and, passing 
through the clouds of smoke, Duncan was glad, on more 
accounts than one, to be able, at last, to breathe the pure 
air of a cool and refreshing summer evening. 

Instead of pursuing his way among those lodges where 
Heyward had already made his unsuccessful search, his 
companion turned aside, and proceeded directly toward the 
base of an adjacent mountain, which overhung the tempo- 
rary village. A thicket of brush skirted its foot, and it 
became necessary to proceed through a crooked and narrow 
path. The boys had resumed their sports in the clearing, 
and were enacting a mimic chase to the post among them- 
selves. In order to render their games as like the reality 
as possible, one of the boldest of their number had conveyed 
a few brands into some piles of tree-tops that had hitherto 
escaped the burning. The blaze of one of these fires lighted 
the way of the chief and Duncan, and gave a character of 
additional wildness to the rude scenery. At a little distance 
from a bald rock, and directly in its front, they entered a 
grassy opening, which they prepared to cross. Just then 
fresh fuel was added to the fire, and a powerful light pene- 
trated even to that distant spot. It fell upon the white 
surface of the mountain, and was reflected downward upon 
a dark and mysterious-looking being that arose, unexpect- 
edly, in their path. 

The Indian paused, as if doubtful whether to proceed, 
and permitted his companion to approach his side. A large 
black ball, which at first seemed stationary, now began to 
move in a manner that to the latter was inexplicable. 
Again the fire brightened, and its glare fell more distinctly 


314 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


on the object. Then even Duncan knew it, by its restless 
and sideling attitudes, which kept the upper part of its form 
in constant motion while the animal itself appeared seated, 
to be a bear. Though it growled loudly and fiercely, and 
there were instants when its glistening eyeballs might be 
seen, it gave no other indications of hostility. The Huron, 
at least, seemed assured that the intentions of this singular 
intruder were peaceable, for, after giving it an attentive 
examination, he quietly pursued his course. 

Duncan, who knew that the animal was often domesti- 
cated among the Indians, followed the example of his com- 
panion, believing that some favorite of the tribe had found 
its way into the thicket, in search of food. They passed it 
unmolested. Though obliged to come nearly in contact 
with the monster, the Huron, who had at first so warily 
determined the character of his strange visitor, was now 
content with proceeding without wasting a moment in fur- 
ther examination; but Heyward was unable to prevent his 
eyes from looking backward, in salutary watchfulness 
against attacks in the rear. His uneasiness was in no de- 
gree diminished when he perceived the beast rolling along 
their path, and following their footsteps. He would have 
spoken, but the Indian at that moment shoved aside a door 
of bark, and entered a cavern in the bosom of the moun- 
tain. 

Profiting by so easy a method of retreat, Duncan stepped 
after him, and was gladly closing the slight cover to the 
opening, when he felt it drawn from his hand by the beast, 
whose shaggy form immediately darkened the passage. 
They were now in a straight and long gallery, in a chasm 
of the rocks, where retreat without encountering the animal 
was impossible. Making the best of the circumstances, the 
young man pressed forward, keeping as close as possible to 
his conductor. The bear growled frequently at his heels, 
and once or twice its enormous paws were laid on his 
person, as if disposed to prevent his further passage into 
the den. 

How long the nerves of Heyward would have sustained 
him in this extraordinary situation, it might be difficult to 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


315 


decide; for, happily, he soon found relief. A glimmer of 
light had constantly been in their front, and they now 
arrived at the place whence it proceeded. 

A large cavity in the rock had been rudely fitted to 
answer the purposes of many apartments. The subdivisions 
were simple but ingenious, being composed of stone, sticks, 
and bark, intermingled. Openings above admitted the light 
by day, and at night, fires and torches supplied the place of 
the sun. Hither the Hurons had brought most of their 
valuables, especially those which more particularly per- 
tained to the nation; and hither, as it now appeared, the 
sick woman, who was believed to be the victim of super- 
natural power, had been transported also, under an impres- 
sion that her tormentor would find more difficulty in mak- 
ing his assaults through walls of stone than through the 
leafy coverings of the lodges. The apartment into which 
Duncan and his guide first entered had been exclusively 
devoted to her accommodation. The latter approached her 
bedside, which was surrounded by females, in the centre of 
whom Heyward was surprised to find his missing friend 
David. 

A single look was sufficient to apprise the pretended 
leech that the invalid was far beyond his powers of healing. 
She lay in a sort of paralysis, indifferent to the objects 
which crowded before her sight, and happily unconscious 
of suffering. Heyward was far from regretting that his 
mummeries were to be performed on one who was much too 
ill to take an interest in their failure or success. The slight 
qualm of conscience which had been excited by the in- 
tended deception was instantly appeased, and he began to 
collect his thoughts, in order to enact his part with suitable 
spirit, when he found he was about to be anticipated in his 
skill by an attempt to prove the power of music. 

Gamut, who had stood prepared to pour forth his spirit in 
song when the visitors entered, after delaying a moment, 
drew a strain from his pipe, and commenced a hymn that 
might have worked a miracle, had faith in its efficacy been 
of much avail. He was allowed to proceed to the close, the 
Indians respecting his imaginary infirmity, and Duncan too 


316 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


glad of the delay to hazard the slightest interruption. As 
the dying cadence of his strains was falling on the ears of 
the latter, he started aside at hearing them repeated behind 
him in a voice half human and half sepulchral. Looking 
around, he beheld the shaggy monster seated on end in a 
shadow of the cavern, where, while his restless body swung 
in the uneasy manner of the animal, it repeated, in a sort 
of low growl, sounds if not words, which bore some slight 
resemblance to the melody of the singer. 

The effect of so strange an echo on David may better 
be imagined than described. His eyes opened as if he 
doubted their truth; and his voice became instantly mute in 
excess of wonder. A deep-laid scheme of communicating 
some important intelligence to Heyward was driven from 
his recollection by an emotion which very nearly re- 
sembled fear, but which he was fain to believe was 
admiration. Under its influence he exclaimed aloud — “She 
expects you, and is at hand;” and precipitately left the 
cavern. 


CHAPTER XXV 

Snug. Have you tbe lion's part written? pray you, If it be, give 
it me, for I am slow of study. 

Quince. You may do It extempore, for it is nothing but roaring. 

— Midsummer-Night’s Dream. 

There was a strange blending of the ridiculous with 
that which was solemn in this scene. The beast still con- 
tinued its rolling and apparently untiring movements, 
though its ludicrous attempt to imitate the melody of David 
ceased the instant the latter abandoned the fleld. The 
words of Gamut were, as has been seen, in his native 
tongue; and to Duncan they seemed pregnant with some 
hidden meaning, though nothing present assisted him in dis- 
covering the object of their allusion. A speedy end was, 
however, put to every conjecture on the subject by the man- 
ner of the chief, who advanced to the bedside of the invalid, 
and beckoned away the whole group of female attendants 
that had clustered there to witness the skill of the stran- 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


317 


ger. He was implicitly, though reluctantly, obeyed; and 
When the low echo which rang along the hollow natural gal- 
lery from the distant closing door had ceased, pointing 
toward his insensible daughter, he said, — 

“Now let my brother show his power.” 

Thus unequivocally called on to exercise the functions of 
his assumed character, Heyward was apprehensive that the 
smallest delay might prove dangerous. Endeavoring then 
to collect his ideas, he prepared to perform that species of 
incantation, and those uncouth rites, under which the 
Indian conjurers are accustomed to conceal their ignorance 
and impotency. It is more than probable that, in the dis- 
ordered state of his thoughts, he would soon have fallen 
into some suspicious if not fatal error, had not his incipient 
attempts been interrupted by a fierce growl from the quad- 
ruped. Three several times did he renew his efforts to 
proceed, and as often was he met by the same unaccount- 
able opposition, each interruption seeming more savage and 
threatening than the preceding. 

“The cunning ones are jealous,” said the Huron; “I go. 
Brother, the woman is the wife of one of my bravest young 
men; deal justly by her. Peace!” he added, beckoning to 
the discontented beast to be quiet; “I go.” 

The chief was as good as his word, and Duncan now 
found himself alone in that wild and desolate abode, with 
the helpless invalid, and the fierce and dangerous brute. 
The latter listened to the movements of the Indian with 
that air of sagacity that a bear is known to possess, until 
another echo announced that he had also left the cavern, 
when it turned and came waddling up to Duncan, before 
whom it seated itself, in its natural attitude, erect like a 
man. The youth looked anxiously about him for some 
weapon with which he might make a resistance against the 
attack he now seriously expected. 

It seemed, however, as if the humor of the animal had 
suddenly changed. Instead of continuing its discontented 
growls, or manifesting any further signs of anger, the whole 
of its shaggy body shook violently, as if agitated by some 
strange internal convulsion. The huge and unwieldy talons 


318 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


pawed stupidly about the grinning muzzle, and while Hey- 
ward kept his eyes riveted on its movements with jealous 
watchfulness, the grim head fell on one side, and in its 
place appeared the honest, sturdy countenance of the scout, 
who was indulging, from the bottom of his soul, in his own 
peculiar expression of merriment. 

“Hist!” said the wary woodsman, interrupting Hey- 
ward’s exclamation of surprise; “the varlets are about the 
place, and any sounds that are not natural to witchcraft 
would bring them back upon us in a body.” 

“Tell me the meaning of this masquerade, and why you 
have attempted so desperate an adventure.” 

“Ah! reason and calculation are often outdone by acci- 
dent,” returned the scout. “But as a story should always 
commence at the beginning, I will tell you the whole in 
order. After we parted I placed the commandant and the 
Sagamore in an old beaver lodge, where they are safer from 
the Hurons than they would be in the garrison of Edward; 
for your high northwest Indians, not having as yet got the 
traders among them, continue to venerate the beaver. After 
which Uncas and I pushed for the other encampment, as 
was agreed; have you seen the lad?” 

“To my great grief! he is captive, and condemned to die 
at the rising of the sun.” 

“I had misgivings that such would be his fate,” resumed 
the scout, in a less confident and joyous tone. But soon 
regaining his naturally firm voice, he continued: “His bad 
fortune is the true reason of my being here, for it would 
never do to abandon such a boy to the Hurons. A rare 
time . the knaves would have of it, could they tie The 
Bounding Elk and The Long Carabine, as they call me, 
to the same stake! Though why they have given me such 
a name I never knew, there being as little likeness between 
the gifts of ‘Killdeer’ and the performance of one of your 
real Canada carabynes, as there is between the natur’ of a 
pipe-stone and a flint!” 

“Keep to your tale,” said the impatient Heyward; “v/e 
know not at what moment the Hurons may return.” 

“No fear of them. A conjurer must have his time, like 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


319 


a straggling priest in the settlements. We are as safe from 
interruption as a missionary would be at the beginning of a 
two hours’ discourse. Well, Uncas and I fell in with a 
return party of the varlets; the lad was much too forward 
for a scout; nay, for that matter, being of hot blood, he was 
not so much to blame; and, after all, one of the Hurons 
proved a coward, and in fleeing led him into an ambush- 
ment.” 

“And dearly has he paid for the weakness!” 

The scout signiflcantly passed his hand across his own 
throat, and nodded, as if he said, “I comprehend your 
meaning.” After which he continued, in a more audible 
though scarcely more intelligible language, — 

“After the loss of the boy I turned upon the Hurons, as 
you may judge. There have been scrimmages atween one 
or two of their outlyers and myself, but that is neither here 
nor there. So, after I had shot the imps, I got in pretty 
nigh to the lodges without further commotion. Then what 
should luck do in my favor but lead me to the very spot 
where one of the most famous conjurers of the tribe was 
dressing himself, as I well knew, for some great battle 
with Satan — though why should I call that luck which it 
now seems was an especial ordering of Providence! So a 
judgmatical rap over the head stiffened the lying impostor 
for a time; and leaving him a bit of walnut for his supper, 
to prevent an uproar, and stringing him up atween two 
saplings, I made free with his flnery, and took the part of 
the bear on myself, in order that the operations might 
proceed.” 

“And admirably did you enact the character; the animal 
itself might have been shamed by the representation.” 

“Lord, major,” returned the flattered woodsman, “I 
should be but a poor scholar for one who has studied so long 
in the wilderness, did I not know how to set forth the move- 
ments and natur’ of such a beast. Had it been now a cata- 
mount, or even a full-sized panther, I would have em- 
bellished a performance for you worth regarding. But It 
is no such marvellous feat to exhibit the feats of so dull a 
beast; though, for that matter too, a bear may be overacted. 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


3)^0 

Yes, yes; it is not every imitator that knows natur’ may be 
outdone easier than she is equalled. But all our work is 
yet before us; where is the gentle one?” 

“Heaven knows; I have examined every lodge in the 
village, without discovering the slightest trace of her pres- 
ence in the tribe.” 

“You heard what the singer said, as he left us, — ‘She is 
at hand, and expects you’?” 

“I have been compelled to believe he alluded to this un- 
happy woman.” 

“The simpleton was frightened, and blundered through 
his message; but he had a deeper meaning. Here are walls 
enough to separate the whole settlement. A bear ought to 
climb; therefore will I take a look above them. There may 
be honey-pots hid in these rocks, and I am a beast, you 
know, that has a hankering for the sweets.” 

The scout looked behind him, laughing at his own con- 
ceit, while he clambered up the partition, imitating, as he 
went, the clumsy motions of the beast he represented; but 
the instant the summit was gained he made a gesture for 
silence, and slid down with the utmost precipitation. 

“She is here,” he whispered, “and by that door you will 
find her. I would have spoken a word of comfort to the 
afflicted soul; but the sight of such a monster might upset 
her reason. Though for that matter, major, you are none 
of the most inviting yourself in your paint.” 

Duncan, who had already sprung eagerly forward, drew 
instantly back on hearing these discouraging words. 

“Am I, then, so very revolting?” he demanded, with an 
air of chagiun. 

“You might not startle a wolf, or turn the Royal Ameri- 
cans from a charge; but I have seen the time when you had 
a better-favored look; your streaked countenances are not 
ill-judged of by the squaws, but young women of white 
blood give the preference to their own color. See,” he 
added, pointing to a place w^here the water trickled from a 
rock, forming a little crystal spring before it found an issue 
through the adjacent crevices; “you may easily get rid of 
the Sagamore’s daub, and when you come back I will try 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


321 


my hand at a new embellishment. It’s as common for a 
conjurer to alter his paint as for a buck in the settlements 
to change his finery.” 

The deliberate woodsman had little occasion to hunt for 
arguments to enforce his advice. He was yet speaking when 
Duncan availed himself of the water. In a moment every 
frightful or offensive mark was obliterated, and the youth 
appeared again in the lineaments with which he had been 
gifted by nature. Thus prepared for an interview with his 
mistress, he took a hasty leave of his companion, and dis- 
appeared through the indicated passage. The scout wit- 
nessed his departure with complacency, nodding his head 
after him, and muttering his good wishes; after which he 
very coolly set about an examination of the state of the 
larder among the Hurons — the cavern among other pur- 
poses, being used as a receptacle for the fruits of their 
hunts. 

Duncan had no other guide than a distant glimmering 
light, which served, however, the office of a polar star to 
the lover. By its aid he was enabled to enter the haven of 
his hopes, which was merely another apartment of the 
cavern, that had been solely appropriated to the safe-keep- 
ing of so important a prisoner as a daughter of the com- 
mandant of William Henry. It was profusely strewed with 
the plunder of that unlucky fortress. In the midst of this 
confusion he found her he sought, pale, anxious, and terri- 
fied, but lovely. David had prepared her for such a visit. 

“Duncan!” she exclaimed, in a voice that seemed to 
tremble at the sounds created by itself. 

“Alice,” he answered, leaping carelessly among trunks, 
boxes, arms, and furniture, until he stood at her side. 

“I knew that you would never desert me,” she said, 
looking up with a momentary glow on her otherwise de- 
jected countenance. “But you are alone! grateful as it 
is to be thus remembered, I could wish to think you are not 
entirely alone.” 

Duncan, observing that she trembled in a manner which 
betrayed her inability to stand, gently induced her to be 
seated, while he recounted those leading incidents which it 
21 


322 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


has been our task to record. Alice listened with breathless 
interest; and though the young man touched lightly on the 
sorrows of the stricken father, taking care, however, not to 
wound the self-love of his auditor, the tears ran as freely 
down the cheeks of the daughter as though she had never 
wept before. The soothing tenderness of Duncan, however, 
soon quieted the first burst of her emotions, and she then 
heard him to the close with undivided attention, if not with 
composure. 

“And now, Alice," he added, “you will see how much is 
still expected of you. By the assistance of our experienced 
and invaluable friend, the scout, we may find our way from 
this savage people, but you will have to exert your utmost 
fortitude. Remember that you fly to the arms of your ven- 
erable parent, and how much his happiness, as well as your 
own, depends on those exertions." 

“Can I do otherwise for a father who has done so much 
for me?" 

“And for me too," continued the youth, gently pressing 
the hand he held in both his own. 

The look of innocence and surprise which he received in 
return convinced Duncan of the necessity of being more 
explicit. 

“This is neither the place nor the occasion to detain you 
with selfish wishes," he added; “but what heart loaded like 
mine would not wish to cast its burden? They say misery 
is the closest of all ties; our common suffering in your 
behalf left but little to be explained between your father 
and myself." 

“And dearest Cora, Duncan; surely Cora was not for- 
gotten?" 

“Not forgotten! no; regretted, as woman was seldom 
mourned before. Your venerable father knew no difference 
between his children; but I — Alice, you will not be of- 
fended when I say that to me her worth was in a degree 
obscured — " 

“Then you knew not the merit of my sister," said Alice^ 
withdrawing her hand; “of you she ever speaks as of one 
who is her nearest friend." 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


323 


“I would gladly believe her such,” returned Duncan, 
hastily; ‘T could wish her to be even more; but with you, 
Alice, I have the permission of your father to aspire to a 
still nearer and dearer tie.” 

Alice trembled violently, and there was an instant during 
which she bent her face aside, yielding to the emotions 
common to her sex; but they quickly passed away, leaving 
her mistress of her deportment, if not of her affections. 

“Heyward,” she said, looking him full in the face with a 
touching expression of innocence and dependency, “give 
me the sacred presence and the holy sanction of that parent 
before you urge me further.” 

“Though more I should not, less I could not say,” the 
youth was about to answer, when he was interrupted by a 
light tap on his shoulder. Starting to his feet, he turned, 
and, confronting the intruder, his looks fell on the dark 
form and malignant visage of Magua. The deep guttural 
laugh of the savage sounded, at such a moment, to Duncan 
like the hellish taunt of a demon. Had he pursued the 
sudden and fierce impulse of the instant, he would have 
cast himself on the Huron, and committed their fortunes to 
the issue of a deadly struggle. But, without arms of any 
description, ignorant of what succor his subtle enemy could 
command, and charged with the safety of one who was just 
then dearer than ever to his heart, he no sooner entertained 
than he abandoned the desperate intention. 

“What is your purpose?” said Alice, meekly folding her 
arms on her bosom, and struggling to conceal an agony of 
apprehension in behalf of Heyward, in the usual cold and 
distant manner with which she received the visits of her 
captor. 

The exulting Indian had resumed his austere counte- 
nance, though he drew warily back before the menacing 
glance of the young man’s fiery eye. He regarded both 
his captives for a moment with a steady look, and then, 
stepping aside, he dropped a log of wood across a door 
different from that by which Duncan had entered. The 
latter now comprehended the manner of his surprise, and 
believing himself irretrievably lost, he drew Alice to his 


324 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


bosom, and stood prepared to meet a fate which he hardly 
regretted, since it was to be suffered in such company. But 
Magua meditated no immediate violence. His first measures 
were very evidently taken to secure his new captive; nor 
did he even bestow a second glance at the motionless forms 
in the centre of the cavern until he had completely cut off 
every hope of retreat through the private outlet he had 
himself used. He was watched in all his movements by 
Heyward, who, however, remained firm, still folding the 
fragile form of Alice to his heart, at once too proud and too 
hopeless to ask favor of an enemy so often foiled. When 
Magua had effected his object he approached his prisoners, 
and said in English, — 

“The pale faces trap the cunning beavers; but the red- 
skins know how to take the Yengeese.” 

“Huron, do your worst!” exclaimed the excited Hey- 
ward, forgetful that a double stake was involved in his 
life; “you and your vengeance are alike despised.” 

“Will the white man speak these words at the stake?” 
asked Magua; manifesting, at the same time, how little 
faith he had in the other’s resolution by the sneer that 
accompanied his words. 

“Here; singly to your face, or in the presence of your 
nation.” 

“Le Renard Subtil is a great chief!” returned the In- 
dian; “he will go and bring his young men to see how 
bravely a pale face can laugh at the tortures.” 

He turned away while speaking, and was about to leave 
the place through’ the avenue by which Duncan had ap- 
proached, when a growl caught his ear, and caused him to 
hesitate. The figure of the bear appeared in the door, 
where it sat, rolling from side to side in its customary rest- 
lessness. Magua, like the father of the sick w'oman, eyed 
it keenly for a moment, as if to ascertain its character. He 
was far above the more vulgar superstitions of his tribe, 
and so soon as he recognized the well-known attire of the 
conjurer, he prepared to pass it in cool contempt. But a 
louder and more threatening growl caused him again to 
pause. Then he seemed as if suddenly resolved to trifle 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


325 


no longer, and moved resolutely forward. The mimic ani- 
mal, which had advanced a little, retired slowly in his front, 
until it arrived again at the pass, when, rearing on its 
hinder legs, it heat the air with its paws, in the manner 
practiced by his brutal prototype. 

“Fool!” exclaimed the chief, in Huron, “go play with 
the children and squaws; leave men to their wisdom!” 

He once more endeavored to pass the supposed empiric, 
scorning even the parade of threatening to use the knife, 
or tomahawk, that was pendent from his belt. Suddenly 
the beast extended its arms, or rather legs, and inclosed him 
in a grasp that might have vied with the far-famed power 
of the “bear’s hug” itself. Heyward had watched the 
whole procedure, on the part of Hawkeye, with breathless 
interest. At first he relinquished his hold of Alice, then 
he caught up a thong of buckskin, which had been used 
around some bundle, and when he beheld his enemy with 
his two arms pinned to his side by the iron muscles of the 
scout, he rushed upon him and effectually secured them 
there. Arms, legs, and feet were encircled in twenty folds 
of the thong, in less time than we have taken to record the 
circumstance. When the formidable Huron was completely 
pinioned, the scout released his hold, and Duncan laid his 
enemy on his back, utterly helpless. 

Throughout the whole of this sudden and extraordinary 
operation, Magua, though he had struggled violently, until 
assured he was in the hands of one whose nerves were far 
better strung than his own, had not uttered the slightest 
exclamation. But when Hawkeye, by way of making a 
summary explanation of his conduct, removed the shaggy 
jaws of the beast, and exposed his own rugged and earnest 
countenance to the gaze of the Huron, the philosophy of 
the latter was so far mastered as to permit him to utter the 
never-failing, — 

“Hugh!” 

“Ay! you’ve found your tongue,” said his undisturbed 
conqueror; “now, in order that you shall not use it to our 
ruin, I must make free to stop your mouth.” 

As there was no time to be lost, the scout immediately 


326 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


set about effecting so necessary a precaution; and when he 
had gagged the Indian, his enemy might safely have been 
considered as hors de combat. ^ 

“By what place did the imp enter?” asked the industri- 
ous scout, when his work was ended. “Not a soul has 
passed my way since you left me.” 

Duncan pointed out the door by which Magua had come, 
and which now presented too many obstacles to a quick 
retreat. 

“Bring on the gentle one then,” continued his friend; 
“we must make a push for the woods by the other 
outlet.” 

“ ’Tis impossible!” said Duncan; “fear has overcome 
her, and she is helpless. Alice! my sweet, my own Alice, 
arouse yourself; now is the moment to fly. ’Tis in vain! 
she hears, but is unable to follow. Go, noble and worthy 
friend; save yourself, and leave me to my fate!” 

“Every trail has its end, and every calamity brings its 
lesson!” returned the scout. “There, wrap her in them 
Indian cloths. Conceal all of her little form. Nay, that 
foot has no fellow in the wilderness; it will betray her. 
All, every part. Now take her in your arms, and follow. 
Leave the rest to me.” 

Duncan, as may be gathered from the words of his com- 
panion, was eagerly obeying; and, as the other flnished 
speaking, he took the light person of Alice in his arms, and 
followed on the footsteps of the scout. They found the 
sick woman as they had left her, still alone, and passed 
swiftly on, by the natural gallery, to the place of entrance. 
As they approached the little door of bark, a murmur of 
voices without announced that the friends and relatives of 
the invalid were gathered about the place, patiently await- 
ing a summons to re-enter. 

“If I open my lips to speak,” Hawkeye whispered, “my 
English, which is the genuine tongue of a white-skin, will 
tell the varlets that an enemy is among them. You must 
give ’em your jargon, major; and say that we have shut 
the evil spirit in the cave, and are taking the woman to 


1 Out of condition to fight. 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 327 

the woods in order to find strengthening roots. Practice all 
your cunning, for it is a lawful undertaking.” 

The door opened a little, as if one without was listening 
to the proceedings within, and compelled the scout to cease 
his directions. A fierce growl repelled the eavesdropper, 
and then the scout boldly threw open the covering of bark 
and left the place, enacting the character of the bear as he 
proceeded. Duncan kept close at his heels, and soon found 
himself in the centre of a cluster of twenty anxious relatives 
and friends. 

The crowd fell back a little, and permitted the father, 
and one who appeared to be the husband of the woman, to 
approach. 

“Has my brother driven away the evil spirit?” de- 
manded the former. “What has he in his arms?” 

“Thy child,” returned Duncan, gravely; “the disease 
has gone out of her; it is shut up in the rocks. I take the 
woman to a distance, where I will strengthen her against 
any further attacks. She shall be in the wigwam of the 
young man when the sun comes again.” 

When the father had translated the meaning of the 
stranger’s words into the Huron language, a suppressed 
murmur announced the satisfaction with which this intelli- 
gence was received. The chief himself waved his hand 
for Duncan to proceed, saying aloud, in a firm voice, and 
with a lofty manner, — 

“Go; I am a man, and I will enter the rock and fight the 
wicked one.” 

Heyward had gladly obeyed, and was already past the 
little group, when these startling words^ arrested him. 

“Is my brother mad?” he exclaimed; “is he cruel? 
He will meet the disease, and it will enter him; or he will 
drive out the disease, and it will chase his daughter into 
the woods. No; let my children wait without, and if the 
spirit appears beat him down with clubs. He is cunning, 
and will bury himself in the mountain, when he sees how 
many are ready to fight him.” 

This singular warning had the desired effect. Instead of 

1 That is, the rest of the words, after “go.” 


3S8 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


entering the cavern, the father and husband drew their tom- 
ahawks, and posted themselves in readiness to deal their 
vengeance on the imaginary tormentor of their sick rela- 
tive, while the women and children broke branches from 
the bushes, or seized fragments of the rock, with a similar 
intention. At this favorable moment the counterfeit con- 
jurers disappeared. 

Hawkeye, at the same time that he had presumed so far 
on the nature of the Indian superstitions, was not ignorant 
that they were rather tolerated than relied on by the wisest 
of the chiefs. He well knew the value of time In the pres- 
ent emergency. Whatever might be the extent of the self- 
delusion of his enemies, and however it had tended to assist 
his schemes, the slightest cause of suspicion, acting on 
the subtle nature of an Indian, would be likely to prove 
fatal. Taking the path, therefore, that was most likely to 
avoid observation, he rather skirted than entered the vil- 
lage. The warriors were still to be seen in the distance, 
by the fading light of the fires, stalking from lodge to lodge. 
But the children had abandoned their sports for their beds 
of skins, and the quiet of night was already beginning to 
prevail over the turbulence and excitement of so busy and 
important an evening. 

Alice revived under the renovating infiuence of the open 
air, and as her physical rather than her mental powers had 
been the subject of weakness, she stood in no need of any 
explanation of that which had occurred. 

“Now let me make an effort to walk,” she said, when 
they had entered the forest, blushing, though unseen, that 
she had not been sooner able to quit the arms of Duncan; 
“I am indeed restored.” . 

“Nay, Alice, you are yet too weak.” 

The maiden struggled gently to release herself, and Hey- 
ward was compelled to part with his precious burden. The 
representative of the bear had certainly been an entire 
stranger to the delicious emotions of the lover while his 
arms encircled his mistress; and he was, perhaps, a stranger 
also to the nature of that feeling of ingenuous shame that 
oppressed the trembling Alice. But when he found him- 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


329 


self at a suitable distance from the lodges he made a halt, 
and spoke on a subject of which he was thoroughly the 
master. 

“This path will lead you to the brook,” he said; “follow 
its northern bank until you come to a fall; mount the 
hill on your right, and you will see the fires of the other 
people. There you must go and demand protection; if they 
are true Delawares, you will be safe. A distant flight with 
that gentle one, just now, is impossible. The Hurons would 
follow up our trail, and master our scalps, before we had 
got a dozen miles. Go, and Providence be with you.” 

“And you!” demanded Heyward, in surprise; “surely 
we part not here?” 

“The Hurons hold the pride of the Delawares; the last 
of the high blood of the Mohicans is in their power,” re- 
turned the scout; “I go to see what can be done in his 
favor. Had they mastered your scalp, major, a knave 
should have fallen for every hair it held, as I promised; 
but if the young Sagamore is to be led to the stake, the 
Indians shall see also how a man without a cross can die.” 

Not in the least offended with the decided preference that 
the sturdy woodsman gave to one who might, in some 
degree, be called the child of his adoption, Duncan still 
continued to urge such reasons against so desperate an 
effort as presented themselves. He was aided by Alice, who 
mingled her entreaties with those of Heyward that he 
would abandon a resolution that promised so much danger, 
with so little hope of success. Their eloquence and in- 
genuity were expended in vain. The scout heard them 
attentively but impatiently, and finally closed the discussion 
by answering, in a tone that instantly silenced Alice, while 
it told Heyward how fruitless any further remonstrances 
would be, — 

“I have heard,” he said, “that there is a feeling in youth 
which binds man to woman closer than the father is tied to 
the son. It may be so. I have seldom been where women 
of my color dwell; but such may be the gifts of nature in 
the settlements. You have risked life, and all that is dear 
to you, to bring off this gentle one, and I suppose that some 


330 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


such disposition is at the bottom of it all. As for me, I 
taught the lad the real character of a rifle; and well has he 
paid me for it. I have fou’t at his side in many a bloody 
scrimmage; and so long as I could hear the crack of his 
piece in one ear, and that of the Sagamore in the other, I 
knew no enemy was on my back. Winters and summers, 
nights and days, have we roved the wilderness in company, 
eating of the same dish, one sleeping while the other 
watched; and afore it shall be said that Uncas was taken 
to the torment, and I at hand — There is but a single 
ruler of us all, whatever may be the color of the skin; and 
Him I call to witness, that before the Mohican boy shall 
perish for want of a friend, good faith shall depart the 
’arth, and ‘Killdeer’ become as harmless as the tooting 
we’pon of the singer!” 

Duncan released his hold on the arm of the scout, who 
turned and steadily retraced his steps toward the lodges. 
After pausing a moment to gaze at his retiring form, the 
successful and yet sorrowful Heyward and Alice took their 
way together toward the distant village of the Delawares. 


CHAPTER XXVI 

Bot. Let me play the lion too. 

— Midsummer-Night’s Dream. 

Notwithstanding the high resolution of Hawkeye, he 
fully comprehended all the difficulties and dangers he was 
about to incur. In his return to the camp, his acute and 
practiced intellects were intently engaged in devising 
means to counteract a watchfulness and suspicion on the 
part of his enemies that he knew were in no degree inferior 
to his own. Nothing but the color of his skin had saved 
the lives of Magua and the conjurer, who would have been 
the first victims sacrificed to his own security, had not the 
scout believed such an act, however congenial it might be 
to the nature of an Indian, utterly unworthy of one who 
boasted a descent from men that knew no cross of blood. 
Accordingly, he trusted to the withes and ligaments with 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 331 

which he had bound his captives, and pursued his way 
directly toward the centre of the lodges. 

As he approached the buildings, his steps became more 
deliberate, and his vigilant eye suffered no sign, whether 
friendly or hostile, to escape him. A neglected hut was a 
little in advance of the others, and appeared as if it had 
been deserted when half completed — most probably on 
account of failing in some of the more important requisites, 
such as food or w’ater. A faint light glimmered through 
its cracks, however, and announced that, notwithstanding 
its imperfect structure, it was not without a tenant. 
Thither, then, the scout proceeded, like a prudent general 
who was about to feel the advanced positions of his enemy 
before he hazarded the main attack. 

Throwing himself into a suitable posture for the beast he 
represented, Hawkeye crawled to a little opening, where he 
might command a view of the interior. It proved to be the 
abiding-place of David Gamut. Hither the faithful sing- 
ing-master had now brought himself, together with all his 
sorrows, his apprehensions, and his meek dependence on 
the protection of Providence. At the precise moment when 
his ungainly person came under the observation of the 
scout, in the manner just mentioned, the woodsman him- 
self, though in his assumed character, Avas the subject of 
the solitary being’s profoundest reflections. 

However implicit the faith of David was in the perform- 
ance of ancient miracles, he eschewed the belief of any 
direct supernatural agency in the management of modern 
morality. In other words, while he had implicit faith in 
the ability of Balaam’s ass to speak, he was somewhat skep- 
tical on the subject of a bear’s singing; and yet he had 
been assured of the latter, on the testimony of his own 
exquisite organs. There was something in his air and man- 
ner that betrayed to the scout the utter confusion of the 
state of his mind. He was seated on a pile of brush, — a few 
twigs from which occasionally fed his low Are, — with his 
head leaning on his arm, in a posture of melancholy 
musing. The costume of the votary of music had under- 
gone no other alteration from that so lately described, 


332 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


except that he had covered his bald head with the triangu- 
lar beaver, which had not proved sufficiently alluring to 
excite the cupidity of any of his captors. 

The ingenious Hawkeye, who recalled the hasty manner 
in which the other had abandoned his post at the bedside 
of the sick woman, was not without his suspicions concern- 
ing the subject of so much solemn deliberation. First mak- 
ing the circuit of the hut, and ascertaining that it stood 
quite alone, and that the character of its inmate was likely 
to protect it from visitors, he ventured through its low 
door, into the very presence of Gamut. The position of the 
latter brought the fire between them; and when Hawkeye 
had seated himself on end, near a minute elapsed, during 
which the two remained regarding each other without 
speaking. The suddenness and the nature of the surprise 
had nearly proved too much for — we will not say the phi- 
losophy, but for the faith and resolution of David. He 
fumbled for his pitch-pipe, and arose with a confused in- 
tention of attempting a musical exorcism. 

“Dark and mysterious monster!” he exclaimed, while 
with trembling hands he disposed of his auxiliary eyes, and 
sought his never-failing resource in trouble, the gifted ver- 
sion of the Psalms; “I know not your nature nor intents; 
but if aught you meditate against the person and 
rights of one of the humblest servants of the temple, 
listen to the inspired language of the youth of Israel, and 
repent.” 

The bear shook his shaggy sides, and then a well-known 
voice replied, — 

“Put up the tooting we’pon, and teach your throat mod- 
esty. Five words of plain and comprehendible English are 
worth, just now, an hour of squalling.” 

“What art thou?” demanded David, utterly disqualified 
to pursue his original intention, and nearly gasping for 
breath. 

“A man, like yourself; and one whose blood is as little 
tainted by the cross of a bear, or an Indian, as your own. 
Have you so soon forgotten from whom you received the 
foolish instrument you hold in your hand?” 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


333 


“Can these things be?” returned David, breathing more 
freely, as the truth began to dawn upon him. “I have 
found many marvels during my sojourn with the heathen, 
but surely nothing to excel this!” 

“Come, come,” returned Hawkeye, uncasing his honest 
countenance, the better to assure the wavering confidence 
of his companion; “you may see a skin which, if it be not 
as white as one of the gentle ones, has no tinge of red to it 
that the winds of the heaven and the sun have not bestowed. 
Now let us to business.” 

“First tell me of the maiden, and of the youth who so 
bravely sought her,” interrupted David. 

“Ay, they are happily freed from the tomahawks of these 
varlets. But can you put me on the scent of Uncas?” 

“The young man is in bondage, and much I fear his 
death is decreed. I greatly mourn that one so well disposed 
should die in his ignorance, and I have sought a goodly 
hymn — ” 

“Can you lead me to him?” 

“The task will not be difficult,” returned David, hesitat- 
ing; “though I greatly fear your presence would rather 
increase than mitigate his unhappy fortunes.” 

“No more words, but lead on,” returned Hawkeye, con- 
cealing his face again, and setting the example in his own 
person by instantly quitting the lodge. 

As they proceeded the scout ascertained that his com- 
panion found access to Uncas, under privilege of his imag- 
inary infirmity, aided by the favor he had acquired with one 
of the guards, who, in consequence of speaking a little 
English, had been selected by David as the subject of a 
religious conversion. How far the Huron comprehended 
the intentions of his- new friend may well be doubted; but 
as exclusive attention is as flattering to a savage as to a 
more civilized individual, it had produced the effect we have 
mentioned. It is unnecessary to repeat the shrewd manner 
with which the scout extracted these particulars from the 
simple David; neither shall we dwell in this place on the 
nature of the instructions he delivered, when completely 
master of all the necessary facts; as the whole will be 


334 THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 

siifficientiy explained to the reader in the course of the 
' narrative. 

The lodge in which Uncas was confined was in the very 
centre of the village, and in a situation perhaps more difla- 
cult than any other to approach, or leave, without observa- 
tion. But it was not the policy of Hawkeye to affect the 
least concealment. Presuming on his disguise, and his 
ability to sustain the character he had assumed, he took the 
most plain and direct route to the place. The hour, how- 
ever, afforded him some little of that protection which he 
appeared so much to despise. The boys were already 
buried in sleep, and all the women, and most of the war- 
riors, had retired to their lodges for the night. Four or 
five of the latter only lingered about the door of the prison 
of Uncas, wary but close observers of the manner of their 
captive. 

At the sight of Gamut, accompanied by one in the well- 
known masquerade of their most distinguished conjurer, 
they readily made way for them both. Still, they betrayed 
no intention to depart. On the other hand, they were evi- 
dently disposed to remain bound to the place by an addi- 
tional interest in the mysterious mummeries that they of 
course expected from such a visit. 

From the total inability of the scout to address the 
Hurons in their own language, he was compelled to trust 
the conversation entirely to David. Notwithstanding the 
simplicity of the latter, he did ample justice to the instruc- 
tions he had received, more than fulfilling the strongest 
hopes of his teacher. 

"The Delawares are women!” he exclaimed, addressing 
himself to the savage who had a slight understanding of the 
language in which he spoke; “the Yengeese, my foolish 
countrymen, have told them to take up the tomahawk, and 
strike their fathers in the Canadas, and they have forgotten 
their sex. Does my brother wish to hear Le Cerf Agile 
ask for his petticoats, and see him weep before the Hurons, 
at the stake?” 

The exclamation "Hugh!” delivered in a strong tone of 
assent, announced the gratification the savage would receive 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 335 

in witnessing such an exhibition of weakness in an enemy 
so long hated and so much feared. 

“Then let him step aside, and the cunning man will blow 
upon the dog! Tell it to my brothers.” 

The Huron explained the meaning of David to his fel- 
lows, who, in their turn, listened to the project with that 
sort of satisfaction that their untamed spirits might be 
expected to find in such a refinement in cruelty. They 
drew back a little from the entrance, and motioned to the 
supposed conjurer to enter. But the bear, instead of 
obeying, maintained the seat it had taken, and growled. 

“The cunning man is afraid that his breath will blow 
upon his brothers, and take away their courage too,” con- 
tinued David, improving the hint he received; “they must 
stand further off.” 

The Hurons, who would have deemed such a misfortune 
the heaviest calamity that could befall them, fell back in a 
body, taking a position where they were out of earshot, 
though at the same time they could command a view of the 
entrance to the lodge. Then, as if satisfied of their safety, 
the scout left his position, and slowly entered the place. It 
was silent and gloomy, being tenanted solely by the captive, 
and lighted by the dying embers of a fire which had been 
used for the purposes of cookery. 

Uncas occupied a distant corner, in a reclining attitude, 
being rigidly bound, both hands and feet, by strong and 
painful withes. When the frightful object first presented 
itself to the young Mohican, he did not deign to bestow a 
single glance on the animal. The scout, v/ho had left 
David at the door, to ascertain they were not observed, 
thought it prudent to preserve his disguise until assured of 
their privacy. Instead of speaking, therefore, he exerted 
himself to enact one of the antics of the animal he repre- 
sented. The young Mohican, who at first believed his 
enemies had sent in a real beast to torment him, and try 
his nerves, detected, in those performances that to Heyward 
had appeared so accurate, certain blemishes that at once 
betrayed the counterfeit. Had Hawkeye been aware of 
the low estimation in which the more skillful Uncas held 


336 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


his representations, he would probably have prolonged the 
entertainment a little in pique. But the scornful expression 
of the young man’s eye admitted of so many constructions 
that the worthy scout was spared the mortification of such 
a discovery. As soon, therefore, as David gave the precon- 
certed signal, a low hissing sound was heard in the lodge, 
in place of the fierce growlings of the bear. 

Uncas had cast his body back against the wall of the hut, 
and closed his eyes, as if willing to exclude so contemptible 
and disagreeable an object from his sight. But the moment 
the noise of the serpent was heard, he arose, and cast his 
looks on each side of him, bending his head low, and turn- 
ing it inquiringly in every direction, until his keen eye 
rested on the shaggy monster, where it remained riveted, 
as though fixed by the power of a charm. Again the same 
sounds were repeated, evidently proceeding from the mouth 
of the beast. Once more the eyes of the youth roamed 
over the interior of the lodge, and returning to their former 
resting place, he uttered, in a deep, suppressed voice, — 

“Hawkeye!” 

“Cut his bands,” said Hawkeye to David, who just then 
approached them. 

The singer did as he was ordered, and Uncas found his 
limbs released. At the same moment the dried skin of the 
animal rattled, and presently the scout arose to his feet, in 
proper person. The Mohican appeared to comprehend the 
nature of the attempt his friend had made, intuitively; 
neither tongue nor feature betraying another symptom of 
surprise. When Hawkeye had cast his shaggy vestment, 
which was done by simply loosing certain thongs of skin, 
he drew a long, glittering knife, and put it in the hands of 
Uncas. 

“The red Hurons are without,” he said; “let us be 
ready.” 

At the same time he laid his finger significantly on 
another similar weapon, both being the fruits of his prow- 
ess among their enemies during the evening. 

“We will go,” said Uncas. 

“Whither?” 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 337 

“To the Tortoises; they are the children of my grand- 
fathers.” 

“Ay, lad,” said the scout in English— a language he was 
apt to use when a little abstracted in mind; “the same 
blood runs in your veins, I believe; but time and distance 
have a little changed its color. What shall we do with the 
Mingoes at the door? They count six, and this singer is as 
good as nothing.” 

“The Hurons are boasters,” said Uncas scornfully; 
“their ‘totem’ is a moose, and they run like snails. The 
Delawares are children of the tortoise, and they outstrip 
the deer.” 

“Ay lad, there is truth in what you say; and I doubt 
not, on a rush, you would pass the whole nation; and, in 
a straight race of two miles, would be in, and get your 
breath again, afore a knave of them all was within hearing 
of the other village. But the gift of a white man lies more 
in his arms than in his legs. As for myself, I can brain a 
Huron as well as a better man; but when it comes to a 
race, the knaves would prove too much for me.” 

Uncas, who had already approached the door, in readiness 
to lead the way, now recoiled; and placed himself, once 
more, in the bottom of the lodge. But Hawkeye, who was 
too much occupied with his own thoughts to note the 
movement, continued speaking more to himself than to his 
companion. 

“After all,” he said, “it is unreasonable to keep one man 
in bondage to the gifts of another. So, Uncas, you had 
better take the leap, while I put on the skin again, and 
trust to cunning for want of speed.” 

The young Mohican made no reply, but quietly folded his 
arms, and leaned his body against one of the upright posts 
that supported the wall of the hut. 

“Well,” said the scout, looking up at him, “why do you 
tarry? There will be time enough for me, as the knaves 
will give chase to you at first.” 

“Uncas will stay,” was the calm reply. 

“For what?” 


22 


338 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


“To fight with his father’s brother, and die with the 
friend of the Delawares.” 

“Ay, lad,” returned Hawkeye, squeezing the hand of 
Uncas between his own iron fingers; “ ’twould have been 
more like a Mingo than a Mohican had you left me. But I 
thought I would make the offer, seeing that youth com- 
monly loves life. Well, what can’t be done by main cour- 
age, in war, must be done by circumvention. Put on the 
skin; I doubt not you can play the bear nearly as well as 
myself.” 

Whatever might have been the private opinion of Uncas 
of their respective abilities in this particular, his grave 
countenance manifested no opinion of his own superiority. 
He silently and expeditiously encased himself in the cover- 
ing of the beast, and then awaited such other movements as 
his more aged companion saw fit to dictate. 

“Now, friend,” said Hawkeye, addressing David, “an 
exchange of garments will be of great convenience to you, 
inasmuch as you are but little accustomed to the make- 
shifts of the wilderness. Here, take my hunting shirt and 
cap, and give me your blanket and hat. You must trust 
me with the book and spectacles, as well as the tooter, too; 
if we ever meet again, in better times, you shall have all 
back again, with many thanks into the bargain.” 

David parted with the several articles named with a 
readiness that would have done great credit to his liber- 
ality, had he not certainly profited, in many particulars, 
by the exchange. Hawkeye was not long in assuming 
his borrowed garments; and v/hen his restless eyes were 
hid behind the glasses and his head was surmounted by 
the triangular beaver, as their statures were not dis- 
similar he might readily have passed for the singer by 
star-light. As soon as these dispositions were made, the 
scout turned to David, and gave him his parting instruc- 
tions. 

“Are you much given to cowardice?” he bluntly asked, 
by way of obtaining a suitable understanding of the whole 
case before he ventured a prescription. 

“My pursuits are peaceful, and my temper, I humbly 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


339 


trust, is greatly given to mercy and love,” returned David, a 
little nettled at so direct an attack on his manhood; ‘‘but 
there are none who can say that I have ever forgotten my 
faith in the Lord, even in the greatest straits.” 

‘‘Your chiefest danger will be at the moment v/hen the 
savages find out that they have been deceived. If you are 
not then knocked in the head, your being a non-composser 
will protect you; and you’ll then have good reason to ex- 
pect to die in your bed. If you stay, it must be to sit down 
here in the shadow, and take the part of Uncas, until such 
time as the cunning of the Indians discovers the cheat, 
when, as I have already said, your time of trial will come. 
So choose for yourself, — to make a rush or tarry here.” 

‘‘Even so,” said David, firmly; ‘‘I will abide in the place 
of the Delaware. Bravely and generously has he battled in 
my behalf; and this, and more, will I dare in his service.” 

‘‘You have spoken as a man, and like one who, under 
wiser schooling, would have been brought to better things. 
Hold your head down, and draw in your legs; their forma- 
tion might tell the truth too early.' Keep silent as long as 
may be; and it would be wise, when you do speak, to break 
out suddenly in one of your shoutings, which will serve to 
remind the Indians that you are not altogether as responsi- 
ble as men should be. If, however, they take your scalp, 
as I trust and believe they will not, depend on it, Uncas and 
I will not forget the deed, but revenge it as becomes true 
warriors and trusty friends.” 

“Hold!” said David, perceiving that with this assurance 
they were about to leave him; “I am an unworthy and 
humble follower of one who taught not the damnable 
principle of revenge. Should I fall, therefore, seek no 
victims to my manes, but rather forgive my destroyers; and 
if you remember them at all, let it be in prayers for the en- 
lightening of their minds, and for their eternal welfare.” 

'The scout hesitated, and appeared to muse. 

“There is a principle in that,” he said, “different from 
the law of the woods; and yet it is fair and noble to reflect 
upon.” Then, heaving a heavy sigh, probably among the 
last he ever drew in pining for a condition he had so long 


340 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


abandoned, he added, “It is what I would wish to practice 
myself, as one without a cross of blood, though it is not 
always easy to deal with an Indian as you would with a 
fellow Christian. God bless you, friend; I do believe your 
scent is not greatly wrong, when the matter is duly consid- 
ered, and keeping eternity before the eyes, though much 
depends on the natural gifts and the force of temptation.” 

So saying, the scout returned and shook David cordially 
by the hand; after which act of friendship he immediately 
left the lodge, attended by the new representative of the 
beast. 

The instant Hawkeye found himself under the observa- 
tion of the Hurons, he drew up his tall form in the rigid 
manner of David, threw out his arm in the act of keeping 
time, and commenced what he intended for an imitation of 
his psalmody. Happily for the success of this delicate 
adventure, he had to deal with ears but little practiced in 
the concord of sweet sounds, or the miserable effort would 
infallibly have been detected. It was necessary to pass 
within a dangerous proximity of the dark group of the sav- 
ages, and the voice of the scout grew louder as they drew 
nigher. When at the nearest point, the Huron who spoke 
the English thrust out an arm and stopped the supposed 
singing-master. 

“The Delaware dog!” he said, leaning forward, and 
peering through the dim light to catch the expression of 
the other’s features; “is he afraid? will the Hurons hear his 
groans?” 

A growl so exceedingly fierce and natural proceeded from 
the beast that the young Indian released his hold and 
started aside, as if to assure himself that it was not a ver- 
itable bear, and no counterfeit, that was rolling before him. 
Hawkeye, who feared his voice w’ould betray him to his 
subtle enemies, gladly profited by the interruption to break 
out anew in such a burst of musical expression as would, 
probably, in a more refined state of society have been 
termed “a grand crash.” Among his actual auditors, how- 
ever, it merely gave him an additional claim to that respect 
which they never withhold from such as are believed to be 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


341 


the subjects of mental alienation. The little knot of In- 
dians drew back in a body, and suffered, as they thought, 
the conjurer and his inspired assistant to proceed. 

It required no common exercise of fortitude in Uncas and 
the scout to continue the dignified and deliberate pace they 
had assumed in passing the lodges; especially as they imme- 
diately perceived that curiosity had so far mastered fear as 
to induce the watchers to approach the hut, in order to wit- 
ness the effect of the incantations. The least injudicious or 
impatient movement on the part of David might betray 
them, and time was absolutely necessary to insure the safety 
of the scout. The loud noise the latter conceived it politic 
to continue drew many curious gazers to the doors of the 
different huts as they passed; and once or twice a dark- 
looking warrior stepped across their path, led to the act by 
superstition or watchfulness. They were not, however, 
interrupted, the darkness of the hour and the boldness 
of the attempt proving their principal friends. 

The adventurers had got clear of the village, and were 
now swiftly approaching the shelter of the woods, when a 
loud and long cry arose from the lodge where Uncas had 
been confined. The Mohican started on his feet, and shook 
his shaggy covering, as though the animal he counterfeited 
was about to make some desperate effort. 

“Hold!” said the scout, grasping his friend by the shoul- 
der, “let them yell again! ’Twas nothing but wonderment.” 

He had no occasion to delay, for the next instant a burst 
of cries filled the outer air, and ran along the whole ex- 
tent of the village. Uncas cast his skin, and stepped forth 
in his own beautiful proportions. Hawkeye tapped him 
lightly on the shoulder, and glided ahead. 

“Now let the devils strike our scent!” said the scout, 
tearing two rifies, with all their attendant accoutrements, 
from beneath a bush, and fiourishing “Killdeer” as he 
handed Uncas his weapon; *‘two, at least, will find it to 
their deaths.” 

Then throwing their pieces to a low trail, like sportsmen 
in readiness for their game, they dashed forward, and were 
soon buried in the sombre darkness of the forest. 


342 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


CHAPTER XXVII 

Ant. I shall remember: 

When Caesar says “Do this,” it is performed. 

—Julius Caesar. 

The impatience of the savages who lingered about the 
prison of Uncas, as has been seen, had overcome their dread 
of the conjurer’s breath. They stole cautiously, and with 
beating hearts, to a crevice through which the faint light 
of the fire was glimmering. For several minutes they mis- 
took the form of David for that of their prisoner; but the 
very accident which Hawkeye had foreseen occurred. Tired 
of keeping the extremities of his long person so near to- 
gether, the singer gradually suffered the lower limbs to 
extend themselves, until one of his misshapen feet actually 
came in contact with and shoved aside the embers of the 
fire. At first the Hurons believed the Delaware had been 
thus deformed by witchcraft. But when David, uncon- 
scious of being observed, turned his head, and exposed his 
simple, mild countenance, in place of the haughty linea- 
ments of their prisoner, it would have exceeded the credu- 
lity of even a native to have doubted any longer. They 
rushed together into the lodge, and laying their hands, with 
but little ceremony, on their captive, immediately detected 
the imposition. Then arose the cry first heard by the 
fugitives. It was succeeded by the most frantic and angry 
demonstrations of vengeance, David, however firm in his 
determination to cover the retreat of his friends, was com- 
pelled to believe that his own final hour had come. De- 
prived of his book and his pipe, he was fain to trust to 
a memory that rarely failed him on such subjects; and 
breaking forth in a loud and impassioned strain, he en- 
deavored to soothe his passage into the other world by 
singing the opening verse of a funeral anthem. The Indians 
were seasonably reminded of his infirmity, and rushing 
into the open air, they aroused the village in the manner 
described. 

A native warrior fights as he sleeps, without the protec- 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


343 


tion of anything defensive. The sounds of the alarm were, 
therefore, hardly uttered, before two hundred men were 
afoot, and ready for the battle or the chase, as either might 
be required. The escape was soon known; and the whole 
tribe crowded, in a body, around the council-lodge, impa- 
tiently awaiting the instruction of their chiefs. In such a 
sudden demand on their wisdom, the presence of the cun- 
ning Magua could scarcely fail of being needed. His name 
was mentioned, and all looked round in wonder that he did 
not appear. Messengers were then despatched to his lodge, 
requiring his presence. 

In the meantime, some of the swiftest and most discreet 
of the young men were ordered to make the circuit of the 
clearing, under cover of the woods, in order to ascertain 
that their suspected neighbors, the Delawares, designed no 
mischief. Women and children ran to and fro; and, in 
short, the whole encampment exhibited another scene of 
wild and savage confusion. Gradually, however, these 
symptoms of disorder diminished; and in a few minutes 
the oldest and most distinguished chiefs were assembled in 
the lodge, in grave consultation. 

The clamor of many voices soon announced that a party 
approached, who might be expected to communicate some 
intelligence that would explain the mystery of the novel 
surprise. The crowd without gave way, and several war- 
riors entered the place, bringing with them the hapless con- 
jurer, who had been left so long by the scout in duress. 

Notwithstanding this man was held in very unequal esti- 
mation among the Hurons, some believing implicitly in his 
power, and others deeming him an impostor, he was now 
listened to by all with the deepest attention. When his 
brief story was ended, the father of the sick woman stepped 
forth, and in a few pithy expressions related, in his turn, 
what he knew. These two narratives gave a proper direc- 
tion to the subsequent inquiries, which were now made with 
the characteristic cunning of savages. 

Instead of rushing in a confused and disorderly throng to 
the cavern, ten of the wisest and firmest among the chiefs 
were selected to prosecute the investigation. As no time 


344 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


was to be lost, the instant the choice was made the individ- 
uals appointed rose in a body, -and left the place without 
speaking. On reaching the entrance, the younger men in 
advance made way for their seniors; and the whole pro- 
ceeded along the low, dark gallery, with the firmness of 
warriors ready to devote themselves to the public good, 
though, at the same time, secretly doubting the nature of 
the power with which they were about to contend. 

The outer apartment of the cavern was silent and gloomy. 
The woman lay in her usual place and posture, though 
there were those present who affirmed they had seen her 
borne to the Tvoods by the supposed “medicine of the white 
men.” Such a direct and palpable contradiction of the 
tale related by the father caused all eyes to be turned on 
him. Chafed by the silent imputation, and inwardly 
troubled by so unaccountable a circumstance, the chief 
advanced to the side of the bed, and, stooping, cast an 
incredulous look at the features, as if distrusting their 
reality. His daughter was dead. 

The unerring feeling of nature for a moment prevailed, 
and the old warrior hid his eyes in sorrow. Then, recover- 
ing his self-possession, he faced his companions, and, point- 
ing towards the corpse, he said, in the language of his 
people, — 

“The wife of my young man has left us! the Great 
Spirit is angry with his children.” 

The mournful intelligence was received in solemn silence. 
After a short pause, one of the elder Indians was about to 
speak, when a dark-looking object was seen rolling out of 
an adjoining apartment, into the very centre of the room 
where they stood. Ignorant of the nature of the beings 
they had to deal with, the whole party drew back a little, 
and gazed in admiration,^ until the object fronted the light, 
and, rising on end, exhibited the distorted but still fierce 
and sullen features of Magua. The discovery was suc- 
ceeded by a general exclamation of amazement. 

As soon, however, as the true situation of the chief was 
understood, several ready knives appeared, and his limbs 

' That Is. wonder. 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


345 


and tongue were quickly released. The Huron arose, and 
shook himself like a lion quitting his lair. Not a word 
escaped him, though his hand played convulsively with the 
handle of his knife, while his lowering eyes scanned the 
whole party, as if they sought an object suited to the first 
burst of his vengeance. 

It was happy for Uncas and the scout, and even David, 
that they were all beyond the reach of his arm at such a 
moment; for, assuredly, no refinement in cruelty would 
then have deferred their deaths, in opposition to the 
promptings of the fierce temper that nearly choked him. 
Meeting everywhere faces that he knew as friends, the 
savage grated his teeth together like rasps of iron, and 
swallowed his passion for want of a victim on whom to 
vent it. This exhibition of anger was noted by all present; 
and, from an apprehension of exasperating a temper that 
was already chafed nearly to madness, several minutes 
were suffered to pass before another word was uttered. 
When, however, suitable time had elapsed, the oldest of the 
party spoke. 

“My friend has found an enemy,” he said. “Is he nigh, 
that the Hurons may take revenge?” 

“Let the Delaware die!” exclaimed Magua, in a voice of 
thunder. 

Another long and expressive silence was observed, and 
was broken, as before, with due precaution, by the same 
individual. 

“The Mohican is swift of foot, and leaps far,” he said; 
“but my young men are on his trail.” 

“Is he gone?” demanded Magua, in tones so deep and 
guttural that they seemed to proceed from his inmost chest. 

“An evil spirit has been among us, and the Delaware has 
blinded our eyes.” 

“An evil spirit!” repeated the other, mockingly; “ 'tis 
the spirit that has taken the lives of so many Hurons; the 
spirit that slew my young men at ‘the tumbling river;’ 
that took their scalps at the ‘healing spring;’ and who has 
now bound the arms of Le Renard Subtil!” 

“Of whom does my friend speak?” 


346 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


“Of the dog who carries the heart and cunning of a 
Huron under a pale skin — La Longue Carabine.” 

The pronunciation of so terrible a name produced the 
usual effect among his auditors. But when time was given 
for reflection, and the warriors remembered that their for- 
midable and daring enemy had even been in the bosom of 
their encampment, working injury, fearful rage took the 
place of wonder, and all those flerce passions with which 
the bosom of Magua had just been struggling were suddenly 
transferred to his companions. Some among them gnashed 
their teeth in anger, others vented their feelings in yells, 
and some, again, beat the air as frantically as if the object 
of their resentment were suffering under their blows. But 
this sudden outbreaking of temper as quickly subsided in 
the still and sullen restraint they most affected in their 
moments of inaction. 

Magua, who had in his turn found leisure for reflection, 
now changed his manner, and assumed the air of one who 
knew how to think and act with a dignity worthy of so 
grave a subject. 

“Let us go to my people,” he said; “they wait for us.” 

His companions consented in silence, and the whole of 
the savage party left the cavern and returned to the coun- 
cil-lodge. When they were seated, all eyes turned on 
Magua, who understood, from such an indication, that, by 
common consent, they had devolved the duty of relating 
what had passed on him. He arose, and told his tale with- 
out duplicity or reservation. The whole deception practiced 
by both Duncan and Hawkeye was, of course, laid naked; 
and no room was found, even for the most superstitious of 
the tribe, any longer to affix a doubt on the. character of 
the occurrences. It was but too apparent that they had 
been insultingly, shamefully, disgracefully deceived. When 
he had ended, and resumed his seat, the collected tribe — 
for his auditors, in substance included all the fighting men 
of the party— sat regarding each other like men astonished 
equally at the audacity and the success of their enemies. 
The next consideration, however, was the means and op- 
portunities for revenge. 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


34 *^ 


Additional pursuers were sent on the trail of the fugi- 
tives; and then the chiefs applied themselves, in earnest, 
to the business of consultation. Many different expedients 
were proposed by the elder warriors, in succession, to all of 
which Magua was a silent and respectful listener. That 
subtle savage had recovered his artifice and self-command, 
and now proceeded toward his object with his customary 
caution and skill. It was only when each one disposed to 
speak had uttered his sentiments that he prepared to 
advance his own opinions. They W'ere given with addi- 
tional weight from the circumstance that some of the run- 
ners had already returned, and reported that their enemies 
had been traced so far as to leave no doubt of their having 
sought safety in the neighboring camp of their suspected 
allies, the Delawares. With the advantage of possessing 
this important intelligence, the chief -warily laid his plans 
before his fellows, and, as might have been anticipated from 
his eloquence and cunning, they were adopted without a 
dissenting voice. They were, briefiy, as follows, both in 
opinions and in motives. 

It has been already stated that, in obedience to a policy 
rarely departed from, the sisters were separated so soon as 
they reached the Huron village. Magua had early discov- 
ered that in retaining the person of Alice he possessed the 
most effectual check on Cora. When they parted, therefore, 
he kept the former within reach of his hand, consigning the 
one he most valued to the keeping of their allies. The 
arrangement v/as understood to be merely temporary, and 
was made as much with a view to flatter his neighbors as 
in obedience to the invariable rule of Indian policy. 

While goaded incessantly by those revengeful impulses 
that in a savage seldom slumber, the chief was still at- 
tentive to his more permanent personal interests. The 
follies and disloyalty committed in his youth were to be 
expiated by a long and painful penance, ere he could be 
restored to the full enjoyment of the confidence of his an- 
cient people; and without confidence, there could be no au- 
thority in an Indian tribe. In this delicate and ardu- 
ous situation, the crafty native had neglected no means of 


348 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


increasing his influence; and one of the happiest of his 
expedients had been the success with which he had cul- 
tivated the favor of their powerful and dangerous neigh- 
bors. The result of his experiment had answered all the 
expectations of his policy; for the Hurons were in no 
degree exempt from that governing principle of nature 
which induces man to value his gifts precisely in the degree 
that they are appreciated by others. 

But, while he was making this ostensible sacrifice to gen- 
eral considerations, Magua never lost sight of his individual 
motives. The latter had been frustrated by the unlooked- 
for events which had placed all his prisoners beyond his 
control; and he now found himself reduced to the necessity 
of suing for favors to those whom it had so lately been his 
policy to oblige. 

Several of the chiefs had proposed deep and treacherous 
schemes to surprise the Delawares, and, by gaining posses- 
sion of their camp, to recover their prisoners by the same 
blow; for all agreed that their honor, their interests, and 
the peace and happiness of their dead countrymen imperi- 
ously required them speedily to immolate some victims to 
their revenge. But plans so dangerous to attempt, and of 
such doubtful issue, Magua found little difficulty in defeat- 
ing. He exposed their risk and fallacy with his usual skill; 
and it was only after he had removed every impediment, in 
the shape of opposing advice, that he ventured to propose 
his own projects. 

He commenced by flattering the self-love of his auditors, 
a never-failing method of commanding attention. When 
he had enumerated the many different occasions on which 
the Hurons had exhibited their courage and prowess in 
the punishment of insults, he digressed in a high encomium 
on the virtue of wisdom. He painted the quality as form- 
ing the great point of difference between the beaver and 
other brutes; between brutes and men; and, finally, be- 
tween the Hurons, in particular, and the rest of the human 
race. After he had sufficiently extolled the property of 
discretion, he undertook to exhibit in what manner its use 
was applicable to the present situation of their tribe. On 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


349 


the one hand, he said, was their great pale father, the gov- 
ernor of the Canadas, who had looked upon his children 
with a hard eye since their tomahawks had been so red; 
on the other, a people as numerous as themselves, who 
spoke a different language, possessed different interests, 
and loved them not, and who would be glad of any pre- 
tense to bring them in disgrace with the great white chief. 
Then he spoke of their necessities; of the gifts they had a 
right to expect for their past services; of their distance 
from their proper hunting-grounds and native villages; and 
of the necessity of consulting prudence more, and inclina- 
tion less, in so critical circumstances. When he perceived 
that, while the old men applauded his moderation, many 
of the fiercest and most distinguished of the warriors lis- 
tened to these politic plans with lowering looks, he cun- 
ningly led them back to the subject which they most loved. 
He spoke openly of the fruits of their wisdom, which he 
boldly pronounced would be a complete and final triumph 
over their enemies. He even darkly hinted that their suc- 
cess might be extended, with proper caution, in such a 
manner as to include the destruction of all whom they had 
reason to hate. In short, he so blended the warlike with 
the artful, the obvious with the obscure, as to flatter the 
propensities of both parties, and to leave to each subject of 
hope, while neither could say it clearly comprehended his 
intentions. 

The orator or the politician who can produce such a 
state of things is commonly popular with his contempora- 
ries, however he may be treated by posterity. All per- 
ceived that more was meant than was uttered, and each 
one believed that the hidden meaning was precisely such 
as his own faculties enabled him to understand, or his own 
wishes led him to anticipate. 

Ill this happy state of things, it is not surprising that the 
management of Magua prevailed. The tribe consented to 
act with deliberation, and with one voice they committed 
the direction of the whole affair to the government of the 
chief who had suggested such wise and intelligible expe- 
dients. 


350 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


Magua had now attained one great object of all his cun- 
ning and enterprise. The ground he had lost in the favor 
of his people was completely regained, and he found him- 
self even placed at the head of affairs. He was, in truth, 
their ruler; and, so long as he could maintain his popular- 
ity, no monarch could be more despotic, especially while 
the tribe continued in a hostile country. Throwing off, 
therefore, the appearance of consultation, he assumed the 
grave air of authority necessary to support the dignity of 
his office. 

Runners were despatched for intelligence in different 
directions; spies were ordered to approach and feel the 
encampment of the Delawares; the warriors were dismissed 
to their lodges, with an intimation that their services would 
soon be needed; and the women and children were ordered 
to retire, with a warning that it was their province to be 
silent. When these several arrangements were made, 
Magua passed through the village, stopping here and there 
to pay a visit where he thought his presence might be 
flattering to the individual. He confirmed his friends In 
their confidence, fixed the wavering, and gratified all. 
Then he sought his own lodge. The wife the Huron chief 
had abandoned, when he was chased from among his people, 
was dead. Children he had none; and he now occupied a 
hut, without companion of any sort. It was, in fact, the 
dilapidated and solitary structure in which David had been 
discovered, and whom he had tolerated in his presence, on 
those few occasions when they met, with the contemptuous 
indifference of a haughty superiority. 

Hither, then, Magua retired, when his labors of policy 
were ended. While others slept, however, he neither knew 
nor sought repose. Had there been one sufficiently curious 
to have watched the movements of the newly elected chief, 
he would have seen him seated in a corner of his lodge, 
musing on the subject of his future plans, from the hour of 
his retirement to the time he had appointed for the war- 
riors to assemble again. Occasionally the air breathed 
through the crevices of the hut, and the. low flames that 
fluttered about the embers of the fire threw their wavering 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


351 


light on the person of the sullen recluse. At such moments 
it would not have been difficult to have fancied the dusky 
savage the Prince of Darkness, brooding on his own fan- 
cied wrongs, and plotting evil. 

Long before the day dawned, however, warrior after war- 
rior entered the solitary hut of Magua, until they had col- 
lected to the number of twenty. Each bore his rifle, and 
all the other accoutrements of v/ar, though the paint was 
uniformly peaceful. The entrance of these flerce-looking 
beings was unnoticed; some seating themselves in the shad- 
ows of the place, and others standing like motionless stat- 
ues, until the whole of the designated band was collected. 

Then Magua arose and gave the signal to proceed, march- 
ing himself in advance. They followed their leader singly, 
and in that well-known order which has obtained the dis- 
tinguishing appellation of “Indian file.” Unlike other 
men engaged in the spirit-stirring business of war, they 
stole from their camp unostentatiously and unobserved, 
resembling a band of gliding spectres, more than warriors 
seeking the bubble reputation by deeds of desperate daring. 

Instead of taking the path which led directly toward the 
camp of the Delawares, Magua led his party for some dis- 
tance down the windings of the stream, and along the little 
artiflcial lake of the beavers. The day began to dawn as 
they entered the clearing which had been formed by those 
sagacious and industrious animals. Though Magua, who 
had resumed his ancient garb, bore the outline of a fox on 
the dressed skin which formed his robe, there was one chief 
of his party who carried the beaver as his peculiar symbol, 
or “totem.” There would have been a species of profanity 
in the omission, had this man passed so powerful a commu- 
nity of his fancied kindred without bestowing some evi- 
•dence of his regard. Accordingly he paused, and spoke in 
words as kind and friendly as if he were addressing more 
intelligent beings. He called the animals his cousins, and 
reminded them that his protecting influence was the reason 
they remained unharmed, while so many avaricious traders 
were prompting the Indians to take their lives. He prom- 
ised a continuance of his favors, and admonished them to be 


352 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


grateful. After which, he spoke of the expedition in which 
he was himself engaged, and intimated, though with suffi- 
cient delicacy and circumlocution, the expediency of be- 
stowing on their relative a portion of that wisdom for which 
they were so renowned.^ 

During the utterance of this extraordinary address, the 
companions of the speaker were as grave and as attentive 
to his language as though they were all equally impressed 
with its propriety. Once or twice black objects were seen 
rising to the surface of the water, and the Huron expressed 
pleasure, conceiving that his words were not bestowed in 
vain. Just as he had ended his address, the head of a large 
beaver was thrust from the door of a lodge whose earthen 
walls had been much injured, and which the party had 
believed, from its situation, to be uninhabited. Such an 
extraordinary sign of confidence was received by the orator 
as a highly favorable omen; and though the animal re- 
treated a little precipitately, he was lavish of his thanks 
and commendations. 

When Magua thought sufficient time had been lost in 
gratifying the family affection of the warrior, he again 
made the signal to proceed. As the Indians moved away 
in a body, and with a step that would have been inaudible 
to the ears of any common man, the same venerable-looking 
beaver once more ventured his head from its cover. Had 
any of the Hurons turned to look behind them, they 
would have seen the animal watching their movements with 
an interest and sagacity that might easily have been mis- 
taken for reason. Indeed, so very distinct and intelligible 
were the devices of the quadruped, that even the most ex- 
perienced observer would have been at a loss to account 
for its actions until the moment when the party entered 
the forest, when the whole would have been explained by 
seeing the entire animal issue from the lodge, uncasing, 
by the act, the grave features of Chingachgook from his 
mask of fur. 

^ These harangues of the beasts are frequent among the Indians. 
They often address their victims in this way, reproaching them for 
cowardice, or commending their resolution, as they may happen to exhibit 
fortitude or the reverse, in suffering, [Cooper’s note.] 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


353 


CHAPTER XXVIII 

Brief, I pray you; for you see it is a busy time with me. 

—Much Ado About Nothing. 

The tribe, or rather half tribe, of Delawares, which has 
been so often mentioned, and whose present place of en- 
campment was so nigh the temporary village of the Hurons, 
could assemble about an equal number of warriors with the 
latter people. Like their neighbors, they had followed 
Montcalm into the territories of the English crown, and 
were making heavy and serious inroads on the hunting- 
grounds of the Mohawks; though they had seen fit, with 
the mysterious reserve so common among the natives, to 
withhold their assistance at the moment when it was most 
required. The French had accounted for this unexpected 
defection on the part of their ally in various ways. It was 
the prevalent opinion, however, that they had been in- 
fiuenced by veneiation for the ancient treaty that had once 
made them dependent on the Six Nations for military 
protection, and now rendered them reluctant to encounter 
their former masters. As for the tribe itself, it had been 
content to announce to Montcalm, through his emissaries, 
with Indian brevity, that their hatchets were dull, and time 
was necessary to sharpen them. The politic captain of the 
Canadas had deemed it wiser to submit to entertain a pas- 
sive friend than, by any acts of ill-judged severity, to con- 
vert him into an open enemy. 

On that morning when Magua led his silent party from 
the settlement of the beavers into the forest, in the manner 
described, the sun rose upon the Delaware encampment as 
if it had suddenly burst upon a busy people, actively em- 
ployed in all the customary avocations of high noon. The 
women ran from lodge to lodge, some engaged in preparing 
their morning’s meal, a few earnestly bent on seeking the 
comforts necessary to their habits, but more pausing to ex- 
change hasty and whispered sentences with their friends. 
The warriors were lounging in groups, musing more than 
they conversed; and when a few words were uttered, speak- 
23 


354 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


ing like men who deeply weighed their opinions. The in- 
struments of the chase were to be seen in abundance among 
the lodges; but none departed. Here and there a warrior 
was examining his arms, with an attention that is rarely 
bestowed on the implements when no other enemy than the 
beasts of the forest is expected to be encountered. And, 
occasionally, the eyes of a whole group were turned simul- 
taneously toward a large and silent lodge in the centre of 
the village, as if it contained the subject of their common 
thoughts. 

During the existence of this scene, a man suddenly ap- 
peared at the furthest extremity of a platform of rock which 
formed the level of the village. He was without arms, and 
his paint tended rather to soften than increase the natural 
sternness of his austere countenance. When in full view of 
the Delawares he stopped, and made a gesture of amity, by 
throwing his arm upward toward heaven, and then letting 
it fall impressively on his breast. The inhabitants of the 
village answered his salute by a low murmur of welcome, 
and encouraged him to advance by similar indications of 
friendship. Fortified by these assurances, the dark figure 
left the brow of the natural rocky terrace, where it had 
stood a moment, drawn in a strong outline against the 
blushing morning sky, and moved with dignity into the 
very centre of the huts. As he approached, nothing was 
audible but the rattling of the light silver ornaments that 
loaded his arms and neck, and the tinkling of the little 
bells that fringed his deer-skin moccasins. He made, as 
he advanced, many courteous signs of greeting to the men 
he passed, neglecting to notice the women, however, like 
one who deemed their favor, in the present enterprise, of 
no importance. When he had reached the group in which 
it was evident, by the haughtiness of their common mien, 
that the principal chiefs were collected, the stranger 
paused, and then the Delawares saw that the active and 
erect form that stood before them was that of the well- 
known Huron chief, Le Renard Subtil. 

His reception was grave, silent, and wary. The warriors 
in front stepped aside, opening the way to their most ap- 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


355 


proved orator by the action; one who spoke all those 
languages that were cultivated among the northern aborig- 
ines. 

“The wise Huron is welcome,” said the Delaware, in the 
language of the Maquas; “he is come to eat his ‘succo- 
tash’ ^ with his brothers of the lakes.” 

“He is come,” repeated Magua, bending his head with 
the dignity of an Eastern prince. 

The chief extended his arm, and taking the other by the 
wrist, they once more exchanged friendly salutations. 
Then the Delaware invited his guest to enter his own lodge 
and share his morning meal. The invitation was accepted; 
and the two warriors, attended by three or four of the old 
men, walked calmly- away, leaving the rest of the tribe 
devoured by a desire to understand the reasons of so un- 
usual a visit, and yet not betraying the least impatience by 
sign or word. 

During the short and frugal repast that followed, the 
conversation was extremely circumspect, and related en- 
tirely to the events of the hunt in which Magua had so 
lately been engaged. It w'ould have been impossible for 
the most finished breeding to wear more of the appearance 
of considering the visit as a thing of course, than did his 
hosts, notwithstanding every individual present was per- 
fectly aware that it must be connected with some secret 
object, and that probably of importance to themselves. 
When the appetites of the whole were appeased, the 
squaws removed the trenchers and gourds, and the two 
parties began to prepare themselves for a subtle trial of 
their wits.” 

“Is the face of my great Canada father turned again 
toward his Huron children?” demanded the orator of the 
Delawares. 

“When was it ever otherwise?” returned Magua. “He 
calls my people ‘most beloved.’ ” 

The Delaware gravely bowed his acquiescence to what he 
knew to be false, and continued, — 

1 A dish composed of cracked corn and beans. It Is much used also 
by the whites. By corn Is meant maize. [Cooper’s note.] 


356 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


“The tomahawks of your young men have been very 
red.” 

“It is so; but they are now bright and dull; for the 
Yengeese are dead, and the Delawares are our neighbors.” 

The other acknowledged the pacific compliment by a 
gesture of the hand, and remained silent. Then Magua, as 
if recalled to such a recollection by the allusion to the 
massacre, demanded, — 

“Does my prisoner give trouble to my brothers?” 

“She is welcome.” 

“The path between the Hurons and the Delawares is 
short, and it is open; let her be sent to my squaws, if she 
gives trouble to my brother.” 

“She is welcome,” returned the chief of the latter na- 
tion, still more emphatically. 

The baffled Magua continued silent for several minutes, 
apparently indifferent, however, to the repulse he had re- 
ceived in this his open effort to gain possession of Cora. 

“Do my young men leave the Delawares room on the 
mountains for their hunts?” he at length continued. 

“The Lenape are rulers of their own hills,” returned 
the other, a little haughtily. 

“It is well. Justice is the master of a redskin! Why 
should they brighten their tomahawks, and sharpen their 
knives against each other? Are not the pale faces thicker 
than the swallows in the season of flowers?” 

“Good!” exclaimed two or three of his auditors at the 
same time. 

Magua waited a little, to permit his words to soften the 
feelings of the Delawares, before he added, — 

“Have there not been strange moccasins in the woods? 
Have not my brothers scented the feet of white men?” 

“Let my Canada father come,” returned the other eva- 
sively; “his children are ready to see him.” 

“When the great chief comes, it is to smoke with the 
Indians in their wigwams. The Hurons say, too, he is wel- 
come. But the Yengeese have long arms, and legs that 
never tire! My young men dreamed they had seen the trail 
of the Yengeese nigh the village of the Delawares!” 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


357 


“They will not find the Lenape asleep.” 

“It is well. The warrior whose eye is open can see his 
enemy,” said Magua, once more shifting his ground, when 
he found himself unable to penetrate the caution of his 
companion. “I have brought gifts to my brother. His 
nation would not go on the war-path because they did not 
think it well; but their friends have remembered where 
they lived.” 

When he had thus announced his liberal intention, the 
crafty chief arose, and gravely spread his presents before 
the dazzled eyes of his hosts. They consisted principally 
of trinkets of little value, plundered from the slaughtered 
females of William Henry. In the division of the baubles 
the cunning Huron discovered no less art than in their 
selection. While he bestowed those of greater value on the 
two most distinguished warriors, one of whom was his host, 
he seasoned his offerings to their inferiors with such well- 
timed and apposite compliments as left them no grounds 
of complaint. In short, the whole ceremony contained 
such a happy blending of the profitable with the flattering 
that it was not difficult for the donor immediately to read 
the effect of a generosity so aptly mingled with praise, in 
the eyes of those he addressed. 

This well-judged and politic stroke on the part of Magua 
was not without instantaneous results. The Delawares lost 
their gravity in a much more cordial expression; and the 
host, in particular, after contemplating his own liberal 
share of the spoil for some moments with peculiar gratifi- 
cation, repeated with strong emphasis the words, — 

“My brother is a wise chief. He is welcome!” 

“The Hurons love their friends the Delawares,” returned 
Magua. “Why should they not? they are colored by the 
same sun, and their just men will hunt in the same grounds 
after death. The redskins should be friends, and look with 
open eyes on the white men. Has not my brother scented 
spies in the woods?” 

The Delaware whose name in English signified “Hard 
Heart,” an appellation that the French had translated into 
“Le Coeur-dur,” forgot that obduracy of purpose which had 


358 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


probably obtained bim so significant a title. His coun- 
tenance grew very sensibly less stern, and now deigned 
to answer more directly. 

“There have" been strange moccasins about my camp. 
They have been tracked into my lodges.” 

“Did my brother beat out the dogs?” asked Magua, 
without adverting in any manner to the former equivoca- 
tion of the chief. 

“It would not do. The stranger is always welcome to 
the children of the Lenape.” 

“The stranger, but not the spy.” 

“Would the Yengeese send their women as spies? Did 
not the Huron chief say he took women in the battle?” 

“He told no lie. The Yengeese have sent out their 
scouts. They have been in my wigwams, but they found 
there no one to say welcome. Then they fied to the Dela- 
wares — for, say they, the Delawares are our friends; their 
minds are turned from their Canada father!” 

This insinuation was a home thrust, and one that in a 
more advanced state of society would have entitled Magua 
to the reputation of a skillful diplomatist. The recent 
defection of the tribe had, as they well knew themselves, 
subjected the Delawares to much reproach among their 
French allies; and they were now made to feel that their 
future actions were to be regarded with jealousy and dis- 
trust. There was no deep insight into causes and effects 
necessary to foresee that such a situation of things was 
likely to prove highly prejudicial to their future move- 
ments. Their distant villages, their hunting-grounds, and 
hundreds of their women and children, together with a 
material part of their physical force, were actually within 
the limits of the French territory. Accordingly, this alarm- 
ing annunciation was received, as Magua intended, with 
manifest disapprobation, if not with alarm. 

“Let my father look in my face,” said Le Coeur-dur; “he 
will see no change. It is true, my young men did not go 
out on the war-path; they had dreams for not doing so. 
But they love and venerate the great white chief.” 

“Will he think so when he hears that his greatest enemy 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


359 


is fed in the camp of his children? When he is told a 
bloody Yengee smokes at your fire? That the pale face 
who has slain so many of his friends goes in and out 
among the Delawares? Go! my great Canada father is not 
a fool!” 

“Where is the Yengee that the Delawares fear?” re- 
turned the other; “who has slain my young men? who is 
the mortal enemy of my Great Father?” 

“La Longue Carabine.” 

The Delaware warriors started at the well-known name, 
betraying, by their amazement, that they now learned, for 
the first time, that one so famous among the Indian allies 
of France was within their power. 

“What does my brother mean?” demanded Le Cceur- 
dur, in a tone that, by its wonder, far exceeded the usual 
apathy of his race. 

“A Huron never lies!” returned Magua coldly, leaning 
his head against the side of the lodge, and drawing his 
slight robe across his tawny breast. “Let the Delawares 
count their prisoners; they will find one whose skin is 
neither red nor pale.” 

A long and musing pause succeeded. The chief con- 
sulted apart with his companions, and messengers were 
despatched to collect certain others of the most distin- 
guished men of the tribe. 

As warrior after warrior dropped in, they were each 
made acquainted, in turn, with the important intelligence 
that Magua had just communicated. Ihe air of surprise, 
and the usual low, deep, guttural exclamation, were com- 
mon to them all. The news spread from mouth to mouth, 
until the whole encampment became powerfully agitated. 
The women suspended their labors, to catch such syllables 
as unguardedly fell from the lips of the consulting warriors. 
The boys deserted their sports, and, walking fearlessly 
among their fathers, looked up in ^curious admiration, as 
they heard the brief exclamations of wonder they so freely 
expressed at the temerity of their hated foe. In short, 
every occupation was abandoned for the time, and all other 
pursuits seemed discarded, in order that the tribe might 


360 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


freely indulge, after their own peculiar manner, in an open 
expression of feeling. 

When the excitement had a little abated, the old men 
disposed themselves seriously to consider that which it 
became the honor and safety of their tribe to perform, 
under circumstances of so much delicacy and embarrass- 
ment. During all these movements, and in the midst of 
the general commotion, Magua had not only maintained 
his seat, but the very attitude he had originally taken, 
against the side of the lodge, where he continued as im- 
movable, and, apparently, as unconcerned, as if he had no 
interest in the result. Not a single indication of the future 
intentions of his hosts, however, escaped his vigilant eyes. 
With his consummate knowledge of the nature of the 
people with whom he had to deal, he anticipated every 
measure on which they decided; and it might almost be 
said that, in many instances, he knew their intentions 
even before they became known to themselves. 

The council of the Delawares was short. When it was 
ended, a general bustle announced that it was to be 
immediately succeeded by a solemn and formal assemblage 
of the nation. As such meetings were rare, and only 
called on occasions of the last importance, the subtle Huron, 
who still sat apart, a wily and dark observer of the 
proceedings, now knew that all his projects must be brought 
to their final issue. He therefore left the lodge, and 
walked silently forth to the place in front of the encamp- 
ment whither the warriors were already beginning to 
collect. 

It might have been half an hour before each individual, 
including even the women and children, was in his place. 
The delay had been created by the grave preparations that 
were deemed necessary to so solemn and unusual a confer- 
ence. But when the sun was seen climbing above the tops 
of that mountain against whose bosom the Delawares had 
constructed their encampment, most were seated; and as 
his bright rays darted from behind the outline of trees that 
fringed the eminence, they fell upon as grave, as attentive, 
and as deeply interested a multitude as was probably ever 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 361 

before lighted by his morning beams. Its number some- 
what exceeded a thousand souls. 

In a collection of so serious savages there is never to be 
found any impatient aspirant after premature distinction, 
standing ready to move his auditors to some hasty, and, per- 
haps, injudicious discussion, in order that his own reputa- 
tion may be the gainer. An act of so much precipitancy 
and presumption would seal the downfall of precocious 
intellect forever. It rested solely with the oldest and most 
experienced of the men to lay the subject of the conference 
before the people. Until such a one chose to make some 
movement, no deeds in arms, no natural gifts, nor any re- 
nown as an orator, would have justified the slightest inter- 
ruption. On the present occasion, the aged warrior whose 
privilege it was to speak, was silent, seemingly oppressed 
with the magnitude of his subject. The delay had already 
continued long beyond the usual deliberative pause that 
always precedes a conference; but no sign of impatience or 
surprise escaped even the youngest boy. Occasionally an 
eye was raised from the earth, where the looks of most were 
riveted, and strayed toward a particular lodge, that was, 
however, in no manner distinguished from those around it, 
except in the peculiar care that had been taken to protect 
it against the assaults of the weather. 

At length one of those low murmurs that are so apt to 
disturb a multitude was heard, and the whole nation arose 
to their feet by a common impulse. At that instant the door 
of the lodge in question opened, and three men, issuing from 
it, slowly approached the place of consultation. They were 
all aged, even beyond that period to which the oldest pres- 
ent had reached; but one in the centre, who leaned on his 
companions for support, had numbered an amount of years 
to which the human race is seldom permitted to attain. 
His frame, which had once been tall and erect, like the 
cedar, was now bending under the pressure of more than a 
century. The elastic, light step of an Indian was gone, 
and in its place he was compelled to toil his tardy way over 
the ground, inch by inch. His dark, wrinkled countenance 
was in singular and wild contrast with the long white locks 


362 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


which floated on his shoulders in such thickness as to an- 
nounce that generations had probably passed away since 
they had last been shorn. 

The dress of this patriarch — for such, considering his 
vast age, in conjunction with his affinity and influence 
with his people, he might very properly be termed — was 
rich and imposing, though strictly after the simple fashions 
of the tribe. His robe was of the finest skins, which had 
been deprived of their fur, in order to admit of a hiero- 
glyphical representation of various deeds in arms, done in 
former ages. His bosom was loaded with medals, some in 
massive silver, and one or two even in gold, the gifts of 
various Christian potentates during the long period of his 
life. He also wore armlets, and cinctures above the ankles, 
of the latter precious metal. His head, on the whole of 
which the hair had been permitted to grow, the pursuits 
of war having so long been abandoned, was encircled by a 
sort of plated diadem, which, in its turn, bore lesser and 
more glittering ornaments, that sparkled amid the glossy 
hues of three drooping ostrich feathers, dyed a deep black, 
in touching contrast to the color of his snow-white locks. 
His tomahawk was nearly hid in silver, and the handle of 
his knife shone like a horn of solid gold. 

So soon as the first hum of emotion and pleasure, which 
the sudden appearance of this venerated individual created, 
had a little subsided, the name of “Tamenund”^ was whis- 
pered from mouth to mouth. Magua had often heard the 
fame of this wise and just Delaware; a reputation that even 
proceeded so far as to bestow on him the rare gift of hold- 
ing secret communion with the Great Spirit, and which 
has since transmitted his name, with some slight alteration, 
to the white usurpers of his ancient territory, as the imagi- 
nary tutelar saint of a vast empire. The Huron chief, 
therefore, stepped eagerly out a little from the throng, to 
a spot whence he might catch a nearer glimpse of the fea- 
tures of the man whose decision was likely to produce so 
deep an infiuence on his own fortunes. 

The eyes of the old man were closed, as though the 

1 Tammany, Tamendy, or Tamenund, a famous Delaware sachem. 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


363 


organs were wearied with having so long witnessed the self- 
ish workings of the human passions. The color of his skin 
differed from that of most around him, being richer and 
darker, the latter hue having been produced by certain deli- 
cate and mazy lines of complicated and yet beautiful figures 
which had been traced over most of his person by the opera- 
tion of tattooing. Notwithstanding the position of the 
Huron, he passed the observant and silent Magua without 
notice, and, leaning on his two venerable supporters, pro- 
ceeded to the high place of the multitude, where he seated 
himself in the centre of his nation with the dignity of a 
monarch and the air of a father. 

Nothing could surpass the reverence and affection with 
which this unexpected visit from one who belonged rather 
to another world than to this, was received by his people. 
After a suitable and decent pause, the principal chiefs 
arose; and, approaching the patriarch, they placed his hands 
reverently on their heads, seeming to entreat a blessing. 
The younger men were content with touching his robe, or 
even drawing nigh his person, in order to breathe in the 
atmosphere of one so aged, so just, and so valiant. None 
but the most distinguished among the youthful warriors 
even presumed so far as to perform the latter ceremony; 
the great mass of the multitude deeming it a sufficient hap- 
piness to look upon a form so deeply venerated and so well 
beloved. When these acts of affection and respect were 
performed, the chiefs drew back again to their several 
places, and silence reigned in the whole encampment. 

After a short delay, a few of the young men, to whom 
instructions had been whispered by one of the aged attend- 
ants of Tamenund, arose, left the crowd, and entered the 
lodge which has already been noted as the object of so 
much attention throughout that morning. In a few min- 
utes they reappeared, escorting the individuals who had 
caused all these solemn preparations toward the seat of 
judgment. The crowd opened in a lane; and when the party 
had re-entered, it closed in again, forming a large and dense 
belt of human bodies, arranged in an open circle. 


364 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


CHAPTER XXIX 

The assembly seated, rising o’er the rest 
Achilles thus the king of men addressed. 

—Pope’s Iliad. 

Cora stood foremost among the prisoners, entwining 
her arms in those of Alice, in the tenderness of sisterly 
love. Notwithstanding the fearful and menacing array of 
savages on every side of her, no apprehension on her own 
account could prevent the noble-minded maiden from 
keeping her eyes fastened on the pale and anxious features 
of the trembling Alice. Close at their side stood Heyward, 
with an interest in both that, at such a moment of intense 
uncertainty, scarcely knew a preponderance in favor of 
her whom he most loved. Hawkeye had placed himself a 
little in the rear, with a deference to the superior rank of 
his companions that no similarity in the state of their 
present fortunes could induce him to forget. Uncas was 
not there. 

When perfect silence was again restored, and after the 
usual long, impressive pause, one of the two aged chiefs 
who sat at the side of the patriarch arose, and demanded 
aloud, in very intelligible English, — 

“Which of my prisoners is La Longue Carabine?” 

Neither Duncan nor the scout answered. The former, 
however, glanced his eyes around the dark and silent assem- 
bly, and recoiled a pace, when they fell on the malignant 
visage of Magua. He saw at once that this wily savage 
had some secret agency in their present arraignment before 
the nation, and determined to throw every possible impedi- 
ment in the way of the execution of his sinister plans. He 
had witnessed one instance of the summary punishments of 
the Indians, and now dreaded that his companion was to be 
selected for a second. In this dilemma, with little or no 
time for reflection, he suddenly determined to cloak his in- 
valuable friend, at any or every hazard to himself. Before 
he had time, however, to speak, the question was repeated 
in a louder voice, and with a clearer utterance. 

“Give us arms,” the young man haughtily replied, “and 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 365 

place us in yonder woods. Our deeds shall speak for 
us!” 

“This is the warrior whose name has filled our ears!” 
returned the chief, regarding Heyward with that sort of 
curious interest which seems inseparable from man, when 
first beholding one of his fellows to whom merit or accident, 
virtue or crime, has given notoriety. “What has brought 
the white man into the camp of the Delawares?” 

“My necessities. I come for food, shelter, and friends.” 

“It cannot be. The woods are full of game. The head 
of a warrior needs no other shelter than a sky without 
clouds; and the Delawares are the enemies, and not the 
friends of the Yengeese. Go! the mouth has spoken, 
while the heart said nothing.” 

Duncan, a little at a loss in what manner to proceed, re- 
mained silent; but the scout, who had listened attentively 
to all that passed, now advanced steadily to the front. 

“That I did not answer to the call for La Longue Cara- 
bine v/as not owing either to shame or fear,” he said; “for 
neither one nor the other is the gift of an honest man. 
But I do not admit the right of the Mingoes to bestow a 
name on one whose friends have been mindful of his gifts, 
in this particular; especially as their title is a lie, ‘Killdeer’ 
being a grooved barrel and no carabyne. I am the man, 
however, that got the name of Nathaniel from my kin; the 
compliment of Hawkeye from the Delawares who live on 
their own river; and whom the Iroquois have presumed to 
style the ‘Long Rifie,’ without any warranty from him who 
is most concerned in the matter.” 

The eyes of all present, which had hitherto been gravely 
scanning the person of Duncan, were now turned, on the 
instant, toward the upright iron frame of this new pre- 
tender to the distinguished appellation. It was in no 
degree remarkable that there should be found two who 
w^ere willing to claim so great an honor, for impostors, 
though rare, were not unknown amongst the natives; but 
it was altogether material to the just and severe intentions 
of the Delawares that there should be no mistake in the 
matter. Some of their old men consulted together in 


366 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


private, and then, as it would seem, they determined to 
interrogate their visitor on the subject. 

“My brother has said that a snake crept into my camp," 
said the chief to Magua; “which is he?” 

The Huron pointed to the scout. 

“Will a wise Dela^vare believe the barking of a wolf?” 
exclaimed Duncan, still more confirmed in the evil inten- 
tions of his ancient enemy: “a dog never lies, but when was 
a wolf known to speak the truth?” 

The eyes of Magua flashed fire, but, suddenly recollect- 
ing the necessity of maintaining his presence of mind, he 
turned away in silent disdain, well assured that the saga- 
city of the Indians v/ould not fail to extract the real merits 
of the point in controversy. He was not deceived; for, 
after another short consultation, the wary Delaware turned 
to him again, and expressed the determination of the 
chiefs, though in the most considerate language. 

“My brother has been called a liar,” he said, “and his 
friends are angry. They will show that he has spoken the 
truth. Give my prisoners guns, and let them prove which 
is the man.” 

Magua affected to consider the expedient, which he well 
knew proceeded from distrust of himself, as a compliment, 
and made a gesture of acquiescence, well content that his 
veracity should be supported by so skillful a marksman as 
the scout. The weapons were instantly placed in the hands 
of the friendly opponents, and they were bid to fire over the 
heads of the seated multitude at an earthen vessel which 
lay, by accident, on a stump some fifty yards from the place 
where they stood. 

Heyward smiled to himself at the idea of a competition 
with the scout, though he determined to persevere in the 
deception, until apprised of the real designs of Magua. 
Raising his rifle with the utmost care, and renewing his aim 
three several times, he fired. The bullet cut the wood 
within a few inches of the vessel; and a general exclamation 
of satisfaction announced that the shot was considered a 
proof of great skill in the use of the weapon. Even Hawk- 
eye nodded his head, as if he would say it was better 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


367 


than he had expected. But, instead of manifesting an in- 
tention to contend with the successful marksman, he stood 
leaning on his rifle for more than a minute, like a man 
who was completely buried in thought. From this reverie 
he was, however, awakened by one of the young Indians 
who had furnished the arms, and who now touched his 
shoulder, saying, in exceedingly broken English, — 

“Can the pale face beat it?” 

“Yes, Huron!” exclaimed the scout, raising the short 
rifle in his right hand, and shaking it at Magua, with as 
much apparent ease as if it were a reed; “yes, Huron, I 
could strike you now, and no power of earth could prevent 
the deed! The soaring hawk is not more certain of the 
dove than I am this moment of you, did I choose to send a 
bullet to your heart! Why should I not? Why! — because 
the gifts of my color forbid it, and I might draw down evil 
on tender and innocent heads. If you know such a being 
as God, thank Him, therefore, in your inward soul; for you 
have reason.” 

The flushed countenance, angry eye, and swelling figure 
of the scout produced a sensation of secret awe in all that 
heard him. The Delawares held their breath in expecta- 
tion; but Magua himself, even while he distrusted the 
forbearance of his enemy, remained immovable and calm, 
where he stood wedged in by the crowd, as one who grew to 
the spot. 

“Beat it,” repeated the young Delaware at the elbow of 
the scout. 

“Beat what? fool!— what?” exclaimed Hawkeye, still 
flourishing the weapon angrily above his head, though his 
eye no longer sought the person of Magua. 

“If the white man is the warrior he pretends,” said the 
aged chief, “let him strike nigher to the mark.” 

The scout laughed aloud— a noise that produced the 
startling effect of an unnatural sound on Heyward; then, 
dropping the piece heavily into his extended left hand, it 
was discharged, apparently by the shock, driving the frag- 
ments of the vessel into the air, and scattering them on 
every side. Almost at the same instant the rattling sound 


368 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


of the rifle was heard, as he suffered it to fall contemptu- 
ously to the earth. 

The first impression of so strange a scene was engross- 
ing admiration. Then a low but increasing murmur ran 
through the multitude, and finally swelled into sounds that 
denoted a lively opposition in the sentiments of the spec- 
tators. While some openly testified their satisfaction at so 
unexampled dexterity, by far the larger portion of the 
tribe were inclined to believe the success of the shot 
was the result of accident. Heyward was not slow to 
confirm an opinion that was so favorable to his own pre- 
tensions. 

“It was chance!” he exclaimed; “none can shoot with- 
out an aim!” 

“Chance!” echoed the excited woodsman, who was now 
stubbornly bent on maintaining his identity at every haz- 
ard, and on whom the secret hints of Heyward to acquiesce 
in the deception were entirely lost. “Does yonder lying 
Huron, too, think it chance? Give him another gun, and 
place us face to face, without cover or dodge, and let Provi- 
dence, and our own eyes, decide the matter atween us! I 
do not make the offer to you, major; for our blood is of a 
color, and we serve the same master.” 

“That the Huron is a liar is very evident,” returned 
Heyward, coolly; “you have yourself heard him assert you 
to be La Longue Carabine.” 

It were impossible to say what violent assertion the stub- 
born Hawkeye would have next made, in his headlong wish 
to vindicate his identity, had not the aged Delaware once 
more interposed. 

“The hawk which comes from the clouds can return 
when he will,” he said; “give them the guns.” 

This time the scout seized the rifle with avidity; nor had 
Magua, though he watched the movement of the marks- 
man with jealous eyes, any further cause for apprehen- 
sion. 

“Now let it be proved, in the face of this tribe of Dela- 
wares, which is the better man,” cried the scout, tapping 
the butt of his piece with that finger which had pulled so 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


369 


many fatal triggers. “You see the gourd hanging against 
yonder tree, major; if you are a marksman fit for the bor- 
ders, let me see you break its shell!” 

Duncan noted the object, and prepared himself to renew 
the trial. The gourd was one of the usual little vessels 
used by the Indians, and it was suspended from a dead 
branch of a small pine, by a thong of deer-skin, at the full 
distance of a hundred yards. So strangely compounded is 
the feeling of self-love, that the young soldier, while he 
knew the utter worthlessness of the suffrages of his savage 
umpires, forgot the sudden motives of the contest in a wish 
to excel. It has been seen already that his skill was far 
from being contemptible, and he now resolved to put forth 
its nicest qualities. Had his life depended on the issue, the 
aim of Duncan could not have been more deliberate or 
guarded. He fired; and three or four young Indians, who 
sprang forward at the report, announced, with a shout, that 
the ball was in the tree, a very little on one side of the 
proper object. The warriors uttered a common ejaculation 
of pleasure, and then turned their eyes inquiringly on the 
movements of his rival. 

“It may do for the Royal Americans!” said Hawkeye, 
laughing once more in his own silent, heartfelt manner; 
“but had my gun often turned so much from the true line, 
many a marten, whose skin is now in a lady’s muff, would 
still be in the woods; ay, and many a bloody Mingo, who 
has departed to his final account, would be acting his devil- 
tries at this very day, atween the provinces. I hope the 
squaw who owns the gourd has more of them in her wig- 
wam, for this will never hold water again!” 

The scout had shook his priming, and cocked his piece, 
while speaking; and, as he ended, he threw back a foot, 
and slowly raised the muzzle from the earth; the motion 
was steady, uniform, and in one direction. When on a per- 
fect level, it remained for a single moment, without tremor 
or variation, as though both man and rifle were carved in 
stone. During that stationary instant it poured forth its 
contents in a bright, glancing sheet of flame. Again the 
young Indians bounded forward; but their hurried search 
24 


370 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


and disappointed looks announced that no traces of the 
bullet were to be seen. 

“Go!” said the old chief to the scout, in a tone of strong 
disgust; “thou art a wolf in the skin of a dog. I will talk 
to the ‘Long Rifle’ of the Yengeese.” 

“Ah! had I that piece which furnished the name you 
use, I would obligate myself to cut the thong, and drop the 
gourd without breaking it!” returned Hawkeye, perfectly 
undisturbed by the other’s manner. “Fools, if you would 
And the bullet of a sharpshooter of these woods, you must 
look in the object and not around it!” 

The Indian youths instantly comprehended his meaning 
— for this time he spoke in the Delaware tongue — and, tear- 
ing the gourd from the tree, they held it on high with an 
exulting shout, displaying a hole in its bottom, which had 
been cut by the bullet, after passing through the usual 
orifice in the centre of its upper side. At this unexpected 
exhibition, a loud and vehement expression of pleasure 
burst from the mouth of every warrior present. It decided 
the question, and effectually established Hawkeye in the 
possession of his dangerous reputation. Those curious and 
admiring eyes which had been turned again on Heyward 
were finally directed to the weather-beaten form of the 
scout, who immediately became the principal object of at- 
tention to the simple and unsophisticated beings by whom 
he was surrounded. When the sudden and noisy commo- 
tion had a little subsided, the aged chief resumed his 
examination. 

“Why did you wish to stop my ears?” he said, address- 
ing Duncan; “are the Delawares fools, that they could not 
know the young panther from the cat?” 

“They will yet find the Huron a singing-bird,” said Dun- 
can, endeavoring to adopt the figurative language of the 
natives. 

“It is good. AVe will know who can shut the ears of 
men. Brother,” added the chief, turning his eyes on 
Magua, “the Delawares listen.” 

Thus singled, and directly called on to declare his object, 
the Huron arose; and advancing with great deliberation 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


371 


and dignity into the very centre of the circle, where he 
stood confronted to the prisoners, he placed himself in an 
attitude to speak. Before opening his mouth, however, he 
bent his eyes slowly along the whole living boundary of 
earnest faces, as if to temper his expressions to the capaci- 
ties of his audience. On Hawkeye he cast a glance of 
respectful enmity; on Duncan, a look of inextinguishable 
hatred; the shrinking figure of Alice he scarcely deigned 
to notice; but when his glance met the firm, commanding, 
and yet lovely form of Cora, his eye lingered a moment, 
with an expression that it might have been difficult to 
define. Then, filled with his pwn dark intentions, he spoke 
in the language of the Canadas, a tongue that he well knew 
was comprehended by most of his auditors. 

“The Spirit that made men colored 'them differently,” 
commenced the subtle Huron. “Some are blacker than 
the sluggish bear. These he said should be slaves; and he 
ordered them to work forever, like the beaver. You may 
hear them groan, when the south wind blows, louder than 
the lowing buffaloes, along the shores of the great salt 
lake, where the big canoes come and go with them in droves. 
Some he made with faces paler than the ermine of the for- 
ests; and these he ordered to be traders — dogs to their 
women and wolves to their slaves. He gave this people 
the nature of the pigeon: wings that never tire; young, 
more plentiful than the leaves on the trees, and appetites 
to devour the earth. He gave them tongues like the false 
call of the wild-cat; hearts like rabbits; the cunning of 
the hog (but none of the fox), and arms longer than the 
legs of the moose. With his tongue he stops the ears of 
the Indians; his heart teaches him to pay warriors to fight 
his battles; his cunning tells him how to get together 
the goods of the earth; and his arms inclose the land from 
the shores of the salt-water to the islands of the great lake. 
His gluttony makes him sick. God gave him enough, and 
yet he wants all. Such are the pale faces. 

“Some the Great Spirit made wuth skins brighter and 
redder than yonder sun,” continued Magua, pointing im- 
pressively upward to the lurid luminary, which was strug- 


372 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


gling through the misty atmosphere of the horizon; “and 
these did he fashion to his own mind. He gave them this 
island as he had made it, covered with trees and filled with 
game. The wind made their clearings; the sun and rains 
ripened their fruits; and the snows came to tell them to be 
thankful. What need had they of roads to journey by? 
They saw through the hills! When the beavers worked, 
they lay in the shade, and looked on. The winds cooled 
them in summer; in winter, skins kept them warm. If 
they fought among themselves, it was to prove that they 
were men. They were brave; they were just; they were 
happy.” 

Here the speaker paused, and again looked around him, 
to discover if his legend had touched the sympathies of his 
listeners. He met everywhere with eyes riveted on his own, 
heads erect, and nostrils expanded, as if each individual 
present felt himself able and willing, singly, to redress the 
wrongs of his race. 

“If the Great Spirit gave different tongues to his red 
children,” he continued, in a low, still, melancholy voice, 
“it was that all animals might understand them. Some 
he placed among the snows, with their cousin the bear. 
Some he placed near the setting sun, on the road to the 
happy hunting-grounds; some on the lands around the 
great fresh waters; but to his greatest, and most beloved, 
he gave the sands of the salt lake. Do my brothers know 
the name of this favored people?” 

“It was the Lenape!” exclaimed twenty eager voices, in 
a breath. 

“It was the Lenni Lenape,” returned Magua, affecting 
to bend his head in reverence to their former greatness. 
“It was the tribes of the Lenape! The sun rose from 
water that was salt, and set in water that was sweet, and 
never hid himself from their eyes. But why should I, 
a Huron of the woods, tell a wise people their own tra- 
ditions? Why remind them of their injuries; their an- 
cient greatness; their deeds; their glory; their happiness™ 
their losses; their defeats; their misery? Is there not 
one among them who has seen it all, and who knows it to 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 373 

be true? I have done. My tongue is still, for my heart is 
of lead. I listen.” 

As the voice of the speaker suddenly ceased, every face 
and all eyes turned, by a common movement, toward the 
venerable Tamenund. From the moment that he took his 
seat until the present instant, the lips of the patriarch had 
not severed, and scarcely a sign of life had escaped him. 
He sat bent in feebleness, and apparently unconscious of 
the presence he w’as in, during the whole of that opening 
scene, in which the skill of the scout had been so clearly 
established. At the nicely graduated sound of Magua’s 
voice, however, he betrayed some evidence of consciousness, 
and once or twice he even raised his head, as if to listen. 
But when the crafty Huron spoke of his nation by name, 
the eyelids of the old man raised themselves, and he looked 
out upon the multitude with that sort of dull, unmeaning 
expression which might be supposed to belong to the 
countenance of a spectre. Then he made an effort to rise, 
and, being upheld by his supporters, he gained his feet, in 
a posture commanding by its dignity, while he tottered 
with weakness. 

“Who calls upon the children of the Lenape?” he said, 
in a deep, guttural voice, that was rendered awfully audible 
by the breathless silence of the multitude: “who speaks of 
things gone? Does not the egg become a worm — the 
worm a fly, and perish? Why tell the Delawares of good 
that is past? Better thank the Manitou for that which 
remains.” 

“It is a Wyandot,” said Magua, stepping nigher to the 
rude platform on which the other stood; “a friend of Tam- 
enund.” 

“A friend!” repeated the sage, on whose brow a dark 
frown settled, imparting a portion of that severity which 
had rendered his eye so terrible in middle age. “Are the 
Mingoes rulers of the earth? What brings a Huron 
here?” 

“Justice. His prisoners are with his brothers, and he 
comes for his own.” 

Tamenund turned his head toward one of his supporters. 


374 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


and listened to the short explanation the man gave. Then, 
facing the applicant, he regarded him a moment with deep 
attention; after which he said, in a low and reluctant 
voice, — 

“Justice is the law of the great Manitou. My children, 
give the stranger food. Then, Huron, take thine own and 
depart.” 

On the delivery of this solemn judgment, the patriarch 
seated himself, and closed his eyes again, as if better 
pleased with the images of his own ripened experience than 
with the visible objects of the world. Against such a decree 
there was no Delaware sufficiently hardy to murmur, much 
less oppose himself. The words were barely uttered when 
four or five of the younger warriors, stepping behind Hey- 
ward and the scout, passed thongs so dexterously and 
rapidly around their arms as to hold them both in instant 
bondage. The former was too much engrossed with his 
precious and nearly insensible burden to be aware of their 
intentions before they were executed; and the latter, who 
considered even the hostile tribes of the Delawares a supe- 
rior race of beings, submitted without resistance. Perhaps, 
however, the manner of the scout would not have been so 
passive had he fully comprehended the language in which 
the preceding dialogue had been conducted. 

Magua cast a look of triumph around the whole assembly 
before he proceeded to the execution of his purpose. Per- 
ceiving that the men were unable to offer any resistance, he 
turned his looks on her he valued most. Cora met his gaze 
with an eye so calm and firm that his resolution wavered. 
Then, recollecting his former artifice, he raised Alice from 
the arms of the warrior against whom she leaned, and, beck- 
oning Heyward to follow, he motioned for the encircling 
crowd to open. But Cora, instead of obeying the impulse 
he had expected, rushed to the feet of the patriarch, and 
raising her voice, exclaimed aloud, — 

“Just and venerable Delaware, on thy wisdom and power 
we lean for mercy! Be deaf to yonder artful and remorse- 
less monster, who poisons thy ears with falsehoods to feed 
his thirst for blood. Thou that hast lived long, and that 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 375 

hast seen the evil of the world, should know how to tem- 
per its calamities to the miserable.” 

The eyes of the old man opened heavily, and he once 
more looked upward at the multitude. As the piercing 
tones of the supplicant swelled on his ears, they moved 
slowly in the direction of her person, and finally settled 
there in a steady gaze. Cora had cast herself to her knees; 
and, with hands clenched in each other and pressed upon 
her bosom, she remained like a beauteous and breathing 
model of her sex, looking up in his faded but majestic 
countenance with a species of holy reverence. Gradually 
the expression of Tamenund’s features changed, and, losing 
their vacancy in admiration, they lighted with a portion of 
that intelligence which a century before had been wont to 
communicate his youthful fire to the extensive bands of the 
Delawares. Rising without assistance, and seemingly with- 
9 ut an effort, he demanded, in a voice that startled its 
auditors by its firmness, — 

“What art thou?” 

“A woman. One of a hated race, if thou wilt — a Yen- 
gee. But one who has never harmed thee, and who cannot 
harm thy people, if she would; who asks for succor.” 

“Tell me, my children,” continued the patriarch, hoarse- 
ly, motioning to those around him, though his eyes still 
dwelt upon the kneeling form of Cora, “where have the 
Delawares camped?” 

“In the mountains of the Iroquois, beyond the clear 
springs of the Horican.” 

“Many parching summers are come and gone,” con- 
tinued the sage, “since I drank of the water of my own 
rivers. The children of Minquon^ are the justest white 
men; but they were thirsty, and they took it to themselves. 
Do they follow us so far?” 

1 william Penn was termed Minquon by the Delawares, and, as he 
never used violence or injustice in his dealings with them, his reputa- 
tion for probity passed into a proverb. The American is justly proud of 
the origin of his nation, which is perhaps unequaled in the history of 
the world; but the Pennsylvanian and .Terseyman have more reason to 
value themselves in their ancestors than the natives of any other State, 
since no wrong was done the original owners of the soil. [Cooper’s 
note.] 


37G 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


“We follow none; we '.covet .nothing,” answered Cora. 
“Captives against our wills, have we been brought among 
you; and we ask but permission to depart to our own in 
peace. Art thou not Tamenund — the father, the judge, I 
had almost said the prophet of this people?” 

“I am Tamenund of many days.” 

“ ’Tis now some seven years that one of thy people was 
at the mercy of a white chief on the borders of this prov- 
ince. He claimed to be of the blood of the good and just 
Tamenund. ‘Go,’ said the white man, ‘for thy parent’s 
sake thou art free.’ Dost thou remember the name of that 
English warrior?” 

“I remember that when a laughing boy,” returned the 
patriarch, with the peculiar recollection of vast age, “I 
stood upon the sands of the sea-shore, and saw a big canoe, 
with wings whiter than the swan’s, and wider than many 
eagles’, come from the rising sun.” 

“Nay, nay; I speak not of a time so very distant, but of 
favor shown to thy kindred by one of mine, within the 
memory of thy youngest warrior.” 

“Was it when the Yengeese and the Dutchemanne 
fought for the hunting-grounds of the Delawares? Then 
Tamenund was a chief, and first laid aside the bow for the 
lightning of the pale faces — ” 

“Nor yet then,” interrupted Cora, “by many ages; 1 
speak of a thing of yesterday. Surely, surely, you forget 
it not.” 

“It was but yesterday,” rejoined the aged man, with 
touching pathos, “that the children of the Lenape were 
masters of the world. The fishes of the salt lake, the birds, 
the beasts, and the Mengwe of the woods, owned them for 
sagamores.” 

Cora bowed her head in disappointment; and, for a bitter 
moment, struggled with her chagrin. Then, elevating her 
rich features and beaming eyes, she continued in tones 
scarcely less penetrating than the unearthly voice of the 
patriarch himself, — 

“Tell me, is Tamenund a father?” 

The old man looked down upon her from his elevated 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


377 

stand, with a benignant smile on his wasted countenance, 
and then casting his eyes slowly over the whole assemblage, 
he answered, — 

"Of a nation." 

"For myself I ask nothing. Like thee and thine, ven- 
erable chief," she continued, pressing her hands convul- 
sively on her heart, and suffering her head to droop until 
her burning cheeks were nearly concealed in the maze of 
dark glossy tresses tnat fell in disorder upon her shoulders, 
"the curse of my ancestors has fallen heavily on their child. 
But yonder is one who has never known the weight of 
Heaven’s displeasure until now. She is the daughter of an 
old and failing man, whose days are near their close. She 
has many, very many, to love her and delight in her; and 
she is too good, much too precious, to become the victim 
of that villain." 

"I know that the pale faces are a proud and hungry race. 
I know that they claim not only to have the earth, but that 
the meanest of their color is better than the sachems of the 
redman. The dogs and crows of their tribes," continued 
the earnest old chieftain, without heeding the wounded 
spirit of his listener, whose head was nearly crushed to the 
earth in shame as he proceeded, "would bark and caw 
before they would take a woman to their wigwams whose 
blood was not of the color of snow. But let them not boast 
before the face of the Manitou too loud. They entered the 
land at the rising, and may yet go off at the setting sun. 
I have often seen the locusts strip the leaves from 
the trees, but the season of blossoms has always come 
again." 

"It is so,” said Cora, drawing a long breath, as if re- 
viving from a trance, raising her face, and shaking back her 
shining veil with a kindling eye that contradicted the 
deathlike paleness of her countenance; "but why — it is 
not permitted us to inquire. There is yet one of thine own 
people who has not been brought before thee; before thou 
lettest the Huron depart in triumph, hear him speak.” 

Observing Tamenund to look about him doubtingly, one 
of his companions said, — 


378 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


■ “It is a snake — a redskin in the pay of the Yengeese. 
We keep him for the torture.” 

“Let him come,” returned the sage. 

Then Tamenund once more sank into his seat, and a 
silence so deep prevailed, while the young man prepared to 
obey his simple mandate, that the leaves which fluttered in 
the draught of the light morning air were distinctly heard 
rustling in the surrounding forest. 


CHAPTER XXX 

If you deny me, fie upon your law! 

There is no force in the decrees of Venice. 

I stand for judgment: answer; shall I have it? 

—Merchant of Venice. 

The silence continued unbroken by human sounds for 
many anxious minutes. Then the waving multitude 
opened and shut again, and Uncas stood in the living circle. 
All those eyes which had been curiously studying the linea- 
ments of the sage, as the source of their own intelligence, 
turned on the instant, and were now bent in secret admira- 
tion on the erect, agile, and faultless person of the captive. 
But neither the presence in which he found himself, nor 
the exclusive attention that he attracted, in any manner 
disturbed the self-possession of the young Mohican. He 
cast a deliberate and observing look on every side of him, 
meeting the settled expression of hostility that lowered in 
the visages of the chiefs with the same calmness as the 
curious gaze of the attentive children. But when, last in 
his haughty scrutiny, the person of Tamenund came under 
his glance, his eye became flxed, as though all other objects 
were already forgotten. Then, advancing with a slow and 
noiseless step up the area, he placed himself immediately 
before the footstool of the sage. Here he stood unnoted, 
though keenly observant himself, until one of the chiefs 
apprised the latter of his presence. 

“With what tongue does the prisoner speak to the Mani- 
tou?” demanded the patriarch, without unclosing his 
eyes. 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 379 

^‘Like his fathers,” Uncas replied; “with the tongue of 
a Delaware.” 

At this sudden and unexpected annunciation, a low, fierce 
yell ran through the multitude, that might not inaptly be 
compared to the growl of the lion as his choler is first 
awakened — a fearful omen of the weight of his future 
anger. The effect was equally strong on the sage, though 
differently exhibited. He passed a hand before his eyes, as 
if to exclude the least evidence of so shameful a spectacle, 
while he repeated, in his low, guttural tones, the words he 
had just heard. 

“A Delaware! I have lived to see the tribes of the 
Lenape driven from their council-fires, and scattered, like 
broken herds of deer, among the hills of the Iroquois! I 
have seen the hatchets of a strange people sweep woods 
from the valleys, that the winds of heaven had spared! 
The beasts that run on the mountains, and the birds that 
fly above the trees, have I seen living in the wigwams of 
men; but never before have I found a Delaware so base as 
to creep, like a poisonous serpent, into the camps of his 
nation.” 

“The singing-birds have opened their bills,” returned 
Uncas, in the softest notes of his own musical voice; “and 
Tamenund has heard their song.” 

The sage started, and bent his head aside, as if to catch 
the fleeting sounds of some passing melody. 

“Does Tamenund dream?” he exclaimed. “What voice 
is at his ear? Have the winters gone backward? Will 
summer come again to the children of the Lenape?” 

A solemn and respectful silence succeeded this incoherent 
burst from the lips of the Delaware prophet. His people 
readily construed his unintelligible language into one of 
those mysterious conferences he was believed to hold so fre- 
quently with a superior intelligence, and they awaited the 
issue of the revelation in awe. After a patient pause, how- 
ever, one of the aged men, perceiving that the sage had lost 
the recollection of the subject before them, ventured to 
remind him again of the presence of the prisoner. 

“The false Delaware trembles lest he should hear the 


380 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


words of Tamenund,” he said. “ ’Tis a hound that howls 
when the Yengeese show him a trail.” 

“And ye,” returned Uncas, looking sternly around him, 
“are dogs that whine when the Frenchman casts ye the 
offals of his deer!” 

Twenty knives gleamed in the air, and as many warriors 
sprang to their feet, at this biting and perhaps merited 
retort; but a motion from one of the chiefs suppressed the 
outbreaking of their tempers, and restored the appearance 
of quiet. The task might probably have been more diffi- 
cult had not a movement made by Tamenund indicated 
that he was again about to speak. 

“Delaware!” resumed the sage, “little art thou worthy 
of thy name. My people have not seen a bright sun in 
many winters; and the warrior who deserts his tribe when 
hid in clouds is doubly a traitor. The law of the Manitou 
is just. It is so; while the rivers run and the mountains 
stand, while the blossoms come and go on the trees, it must 
be so. He is thine, my children; deal justly by him.” 

Not a limb was moved, nor was a breath drawn louder 
and longer than common, until the closing syllable of this 
final decree had passed the lips of Tamenund. Then a cry 
of vengeance burst at once, as it might be, from the united 
lips of the nation; a frightful augury of their ruthless in- 
tentions. In the midst of these prolonged and savage yells 
a chief proclaimed, in a high voice, that the captive was 
condemned to endure the dreadful trial of torture by fire. 
The circle broke its order, and screams of delight mingled 
with the bustle and tumult of preparation. Heyward strug- 
gled madly with his captors; the anxious eyes of Hawkey e 
began to look around him with an expression of peculiar 
earnestness; and Cora again threw herself at the feet of the 
patriarch, once more a suppliant for mercy. 

Throughout the whole of these trying moments, Uncas 
had alone preserved his serenity. He looked on the prep- 
arations with a steady eye, and when the tormentors came 
to seize him, he met them with a firm and upright attitude. 
One among them, if possible more fierce and savage than 
his fellows, seized the hunting-shirt of the young warrior, 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


381 


and at a single effort tore it from his body. Then, with a 
yell of frantic pleasure, he leaped toward his unresisting 
victim and prepared to lead him to the stake. But at that 
moment, when he appeared most a stranger to the feelings 
of humanity, the purpose of the savage was arrested as sud- 
denly as if a supernatural agency had interposed in the 
behalf of Uncas. The eyeballs of the Delaware seemed to 
start from their sockets; his mouth opened, and his whole 
form became frozen in an attitude of amazement. Raising 
his hand with a slow and regulated motion, he pointed with 
a finger to the bosom of the captive. His companions 
crowded about him in wonder, and every eye was, like his 
own, fastened intently on the figure of a small tortoise, 
beautifully tattooed on the breast of the prisoner in a 
bright blue tint. 

For a single instant Uncas enjoyed his triumph, smiling 
calmly on the scene. Then motioning the crowd away with 
a high and haughty sweep of his arm, he advanced in front 
of the nation with the air of a king, and spoke in a voice 
louder than the murmur of admiration that ran through 
the multitude. 

“Men of the Lenni Lenape!” he said, “my race upholds 
the earth! Your feeble tribe stands on my shell! What 
fire that a Delaware can light would burn the child of my 
fathers?” he added, pointing proudly to the simple bla- 
zonry on his skin; “the blood that came from such a stock 
would smother your flames! My race is the grandfather 
of nations!” 

“Who art thou?” demanded Tamenund, rising at the 
startling tones he heard, more than at any meaning con- 
veyed by the language of the prisoner. 

“Uncas, the son of Chingachgook,” answered the captive 
modestly, turning from the nation, and bending his head in 
reverence to the other’s character and years; “a son of the 
great Unamis.”^ 

“The hour of Tamenund is nigh!” exclaimed the sage; 
“the day is come, at last, to the night! I thank the Mani- 
tou that one is here to fill my place at the council-fire, 


1 Turtle. [Cooper’s note.] 


382 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


Uncas, the child of Uncas, is found! Let the eyes of a 
dying eagle gaze on the rising sun.” 

The youth stepped lightly, but proudly, on the platform, 
where he became visible to the whole agitated and wonder- 
ing multitude. Tamenund held him long at the length of 
his arm, and read every turn in the fine lineaments of his 
countenance, with the untiring gaze of one who recalled 
days of happiness. 

“Is Tamenund a boy?” at length the bewildered prophet 
exclaimed. “Have I dreamed of so many snows — that my 
people were scattered like floating sands — of Yengeese, 
more plenty than the leaves on the trees? The arrow of 
Tamenund would not frighten the fawn; his arm is 
withered like the branch of a dead oak; the snail would be 
swifter in the race; yet is Uncas before him as they went to 
battle against the pale faces! Uncas, the panther of his 
tribe, the eldest son of the Lenape, the wisest sagamore of 
the Mohicans! Tell me, ye Delawares, has Tamenund 
been a sleeper for a hundred winters?” 

The calm and deep silence which succeeded these words 
sufficiently announced the awful reverence with which his 
people received the communication of the patriarch. None 
dared to answer, though all listened in breathless expecta- 
tion of what might follow. Uncas, however, looking in his 
face with the fondness and veneration of a favored child, 
presumed on his own high and acknowledged rank, to 
reply. 

“Four warriors of his race have lived and died,” he said, 
“since the friend of Tamenund led his people in battle. 
The blood of the turtle has been in many chiefs, but all 
have gone back into the earth from whence they came 
except Chingachgook and his son.” 

“It is true — it is true,” returned the sage; a flash of 
recollection destroying all his pleasing fancies, and restor- 
ing him at once to a consciousness of the true history of 
his nation. “Our wise men have often said that two 
warriors of the unchanged race were in the hills of the 
Yengeese; why have their seats at the council-fires of the 
Delawares been so long empty?” 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


383 


At these words the young man raised his head, which he 
had still kept bowed a little in reverence; and lifting his 
voice so as to he heard by the multitude, as if to explain at 
once and forever the policy of his family, he said aloud, — 

“Once we slept where we could hear the salt lake speak 
in its anger. Then we were rulers and sagamores over the 
land. But when a pale face was seen on every brook, we 
followed the deer back to the river of our nation. The 
Delawares were gone. Few warriors of them all stayed to 
drink of the stream they loved. Then said my fathers, 
‘Here will we hunt. The waters of the river go into the 
salt lake. If we go toward the setting sun, we shall find 
streams that run into the great lakes of sweet water; there 
would a Mohican die, like fishes of the sea in the clear 
springs. When the Manitou is ready, and shall say 
“Come,” we will follow the river to the sea, and take our 
own again.’ Such, Delawares, is the belief of the children 
of the Turtle. Our eyes are on the rising, and not toward 
the setting sun. We know whence he comes, but we know 
not whither he goes. It is enough.” 

The men of the Lenape listened to his words with all 
the respect that superstition could lend, finding a secret 
charm even in the figurative language with which the 
young sagamore imparted his ideas. -Uncas himself 
watched the effect of his brief explanation with intelligent 
eyes, and gradually dropped the air of authority he had 
assumed, as he perceived that his auditors were content. 
Then, permitting his looks to wander over the silent 
throng that crowded around the elevated seat of Tamenund, 
he first perceived Hawkeye in his bonds. Stepping eagerly 
from his stand, he made way for himself to the side of his 
friend; and cutting his thongs with a quick and angry 
stroke of his own knife, he motioned to the crowd to divide. 
The Indians silently obeyed, and once more they stood 
ranged in their circle, as before his appearance among them. 
Uncas took the scout by the hand, and led him to the feet 
of the patriarch. 

“Father,” he said, “look at this pale face, a just man, 
and the friend of the Delawares.” 


384 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


“Is he a son of Minquon?” 

“Not so; a warrior known to the Yengeese, and feared 
by the Maquas." 

“What name has he gained by his deeds?” 

“We call him Hawkeye,” Uncas replied, using the Dela- 
ware phrase; “for his sight never fails. The Mingoes know 
him better by the death he gives their warriors; with them 
he is ‘The Long Rifle.’ ” 

“La Longue Carabine!” exclaimed Tamenund, opening 
his eyes, and regarding the scout sternly. “My son has not 
done well to call him friend.” 

“I call him so who proves himself such,” returned the 
young chief, with great calmness, but with a steady mien. 
“If Uncas is welcome among the Delawares, then is Hawk- 
eye with his friends.” 

“The pale face has slain my young men; his name is 
great for the blows he has struck the Lenape.” 

“If a Mingo has whispered that much in the ear of the 
Delaware, he has only shown that he is a singing-bird,” 
said the scout, who now believed that it was time to vindi- 
cate himself from such offensive charges, and who spoke in 
the tongue of the man he addressed, modifying his Indian 
figures, however, with his own peculiar notions. “That I 
have slain the Maquas I am not the man to deny, even at 
their own council-fires; but that, knowingly, my hand has 
ever^ harmed a Delaware, is opposed to the reason of my 
gifts, which is friendly to them, and all that belongs to 
their nation.” 

A low exclamation of applause passed among the war- 
riors, who exchanged looks with each other like men that 
first began to perceive their error. 

“Where is the Huron?” demanded Tamenund. “Has 
he stopped my ears?” 

Magua, whose feelings during that scene in which Uncas 
had triumphed may be much better imagined than de- 
scribed, answered to the call by stepping boldly in front 
of the patriarch. 

“The just Tamenund,” he said, “will not keep what a 
Huron has lent.” 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


385 


“Tell me, son of my brother,” returned the sage, avoid- 
ing the dark countenance of Le Subtil, and turning gladly 
to the more ingenuous features of Uncas, “has the stranger 
a conqueror’s right over you?” 

“He has none. The panther may get into snares set by 
the women; but he is strong, and knows how to leap 
through them.” 

“La Longue Carabine?” 

“Laughs at the Mingoes. Go, Huron, ask your squaws 
the color of a bear.” 

“The stranger and the white maiden that came into my 
camp together?” 

“Should journey on an open path.” 

“And the woman that Huron left with my warriors?” 

Uncas made no reply. 

“And the woman that the Mingo has brought into my 
camp,” repeated Tamenund, gravely. 

“She is mine,” cried Magua, shaking his hand in tri- 
umph at Uncas. “Mohican, you know that she is mine.” 

“My son is silent,” said Tamenund, endeavoring to read 
the expression of the face that the youth turned from him 
in sorrow. 

“It is so,” was the low answer. 

A short and impressive pause succeeded, during which it 
was very apparent with what reluctance the multitude ad- 
mitted the justice of the Mingo’s claim. At length the sage, 
in whom alone the decision depended, said, in a firm 
voice, — 

“Huron, depart.” 

“As he came, just Tamenund,” demanded the wily 
Magua; “or with hands filled with the faith of the Dela- 
wares? The wigwam of Le Renard Subtil is empty. Make 
him strong with his own.” 

The aged man mused with himself for a time; and then 
bending his head toward one of his venerable companions, 
he asked, — 

“Are my ears open?” 

“It is true.” 

“Is this Mingo a chief?” 

25 - _ 


386 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


“The first in his nation.” 

“Girl, what wouldst thou? A great warrior takes thee 
to wife. Go! thy race will not end.” 

“Better, a thousand times, it should,” exclaimed the 
horror-struck Cora, “than meet with such a degradation!” 

“Huron, her mind is in the tents of her fathers. An un- 
willing maiden makes an unhappy wigwam.” 

“She speaks with the tongue of her people,” returned 
Magua, regarding his victim with a look of bitter irony. 
“She is of a race of traders, and will bargain for a' bright 
look. Let Tamenund speak the words.” 

“Take you the wampum, and our love.” 

“Nothing hence but what Magua brought hither.” 

“Then depart with thine own. The great Manitou for- 
bids that a Delaware should be unjust.” 

Magua advanced, and seized his captive strongly by the 
arm; the Delawares fell back, in silence, and Cora, as if 
conscious that remonstrance would be useless, prepared to 
submit to her fate without resistance. 

“Hold, hold!” cried Duncan, springing forward; 
“Huron, have mercy! her ransom shall make thee richer 
than any of thy people were ever yet known to be.” 

“Magua is a redskin; he wants not the beads of the pale 
faces.” 

“Gold, silver, powder, lead — all that a warrior needs 
shall be in thy wigwam; all that becomes the greatest 
chief.” 

“Le Subtil is very strong,” cried Magua, violently shak- 
ing the hand which grasped the unresisting arm of Cora; 
“he has his revenge!” 

“Mighty ruler of providence!” exclaimed Heyward, 
clasping his hands together in agony, “can this be suffered? 
To you, just Tamenund, I appeal for mercy.” 

“The words of the Delaware are said,” returned the sage, 
closing his eyes and dropping back into his seat, alike 
wearied with his mental and his bodily exertion. “Men 
speak not twice.” 

“That a chief should not misspend his time in unsaying 
what had once been spoken, is wise and reasonable,” said 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


387 


Hawkeye, motioning to Duncan to be silent; “but it is also 
prudent in every warrior to consider well before he strikes 
his tomahawk into the head of his prisoner. Huron, I love 
you not; nor can I say that any Mingo has ever received 
much favor at my hands. It is fair to conclude that, if this 
war does not soon end, many more of your warriors will 
meet me in the woods. Put it to your judgment, then, 
whether you would prefer taking such a prisoner as that 
into your encampment, or one like myself, v/ho am a man 
that it would greatly rejoice your nation to see with naked 
hands.” 

“Will ‘The Long Rifle’ give his life for the woman?” 
demanded Magua, hesitatingly; for he had already made a 
motion toward quitting the place with his victim. 

“No, no; I have not said so much as that,” returned 
Hawkeye, drawing back with suitable discretion, when he 
noted the eagerness with which Magua listened to his 
proposal. “It would be an unequal exchange, to give a 
warrior, in the prime of his age and usefulness, for the best 
woman on the frontiers. I might consent to go into win- 
ter-quarters, now — at least six weeks afore the leaves will 
turn — on condition you will release the maiden.” 

Magua shook his head, and made an impatient sign for 
the crowd to open. 

“Well, then,” added the scout, with the musing air of a 
man who had not half made up his mind, “I will throw 
‘Killdeer’ into the bargain. Take the word of an experi- 
enced hunter, the piece has not its equal atween the prov- 
inces.” 

Magua still disdained to reply, continuing his efforts to 
disperse the crowd. 

“Perhaps,” added the scout, losing his dissembled cool- 
ness, exactly in proportion as the other manifested an indif- 
ference to the exchange, “if I should condition to teach 
your young men the real virtue of the we’pon, it would 
smooth the little differences in our judgments.” 

Le Renard flefcely ordered the Delawares, who still lin- 
gered in an impenetrable belt around him, in hopes he 
would listen to the amicable proposal, to open his path. 


388 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


threatening, by the glance of his eye, another appeal to the 
infallible justice of their “prophet.” 

“What is ordered must sooner or later arrive,” continued 
Hawkeye, turning with a sad and humbled look to Uncas. 
“The varlet knows his advantage, and will keep it! God 
bless you, boy; you have found friends among your natural 
kin, and I hope they will prove as true as some you have 
met who had no Indian cross. As for me, sooner or later 
I must die; it is therefore fortunate there are but few to 
make my death-howl. After all, it is likely the imps would 
have managed to master my scalp, so a day or two will 
make no great difference in the everlasting reckoning of 
time. God bless you,” added the rugged woodsman, bending 
his head aside, and then instantly changing its direction 
again, with a wistful look toward the youth: “I loved both 
you and your father, Uncas, though our skins are not alto- 
gether of a color, and our gifts are somewhat different. Tell 
the sagamore I never lost sight of him in my greatest trou- 
ble; and, as for you, think of me sometimes when on a 
lucky trail; and depend on it, boy, whether there be one 
heaven or two, there is a path in the other world by which 
honest men may come together again. You’ll find the rifie 
in the place we hid it; take it, and keep it for my sake; and 
harkee, lad, as your natural gifts don’t deny you the use 
of vengeance, use it a little freely on the Mingoes; it may 
unburden grief at my loss, and ease your mind. Huron, I 
accept your offer; release the woman. I am your prisoner!” 

A suppressed, but still distinct murmur of approbation 
ran through the crowd at this generous proposition; even 
the fiercest among the Delaware warriors manifesting 
pleasure at the manliness of the intended sacrifice. Magua 
paused, and for an anxious moment it might be said he 
doubted; then casting his eyes on Cora, with an expression 
in which ferocity and admiration were strangely mingled, 
his purpose became fixed forever. 

He intimated his contempt of the offer with a backward 
motion of his head, and said, in a steady and settled voice, — 

“Le Renard Subtil is a great chief; he has but one mind. 
Come,” he added, laying his hand too familiarly on the 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 389 

shoulder of his captive to urge her onward; “a Huron Is no 
tattler; we will go.” 

The maiden drew back in lofty womanly reserve, and her 
dark eye kindled, while the rich blood shot, like the pass- 
ing brightness of the sun, into her very temples, at the 
indignity. 

‘T am your prisoner, and at a fitting time shall be ready 
to follow, even to my death. But violence is unnecessary,” 
she coldly said; and immediately turning to Hawkeye, 
added, “Generous hunter! from my soul I thank you. 
Your offer is vain, neither could it be accepted; but still 
you may serve me, even more than in your own noble inten- 
tion. Look at that drooping, humbled child! Abandon 
her not until you leave her in the habitations of civilized 
men. I will not say,” wringing the hard hand of the scout, 
“that her father will reward you — for such as you are above 
the rewards of men — but he will thank you, and bless 
you. And, believe me, the blessing of a just and aged man 
has virtue in the sight of Heaven. Would to God I could 
hear one from his lips at this awful moment!” Her voice 
became choked, and for an instant she was silent; then, 
advancing a step nigher to Duncan, who was supporting 
her unconscious sister, she continued, in more subdued 
tones, but in which feeling and the habits of her sex main- 
tained a fearful struggle, — “I need not tell you to cherish 
the treasure you will possess. You love her, Heyward, 
that would conceal a thousand faults, though she had them. 
She is kind, gentle, sweet, good, as mortal may be. There 
is not a blemish in mind or person at which the proudest 
of you all would sicken. She is fair — oh! how surpassingly 
fair!” laying her own beautiful, but less brilliant hand in 
melancholy affection on the alabaster forehead of Alice, and 
parting the golden hair which clustered about her brows; 
“and yet her soul is pure and spotless as her skin! I 
could say much — more, perhaps, than cooler reason would 
approve; but I will spare you and myself — ” Her voice 
became inaudible, and her face was bent over the form of 
her sister. After a long and burning kiss, she arose, and 
with features of the hue of death, but without even a tear 


390 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


in her feverish eye, she turned away, and added, to the 
savage, with all her former elevation of manner, — “Now, 
sir, if it be your pleasure, I will follow.” 

“Ay, go,” cried Duncan, placing Alice in the arms of an 
Indian girl; “go, Magua, go. These Delawares have their 
laws, which forbid them to detain you; but I — I have no 
such obligation. Go, malignant monster — why do you 
delay?” 

It would be difficult to describe the expression with 
which Magua listened to this threat to follow. There was 
at first a fierce and manifest display of joy, and then it 
was instantly subdued in a look of cunning coldness. 

“The woods are open,” he was content with answering, 
“ ‘The Open Hand’ can come.” 

“Hold,” cried Hawkeye, seizing Duncan by the arm, and 
detaining him by violence; “you know not the craft of the 
imp. He would lead you to an ambushment and your 
death — ” 

“Huron,” interrupted Uncas, who, submissive to the 
stern customs of his people, had been an attentive and 
grave listener to all that passed; “Huron, the justice of 
the Delawares comes from the Manitou. Look at the sun. 
He is now in the upper branches of the hemlock. Your 
path is short and open. When he is seen above the trees, 
there will be men on your trail.” 

“I hear a crow!” exclaimed Magua, with a taunting 
laugh. “Go!” he added, shaking his hand at the crowd, 
which had slowly opened to admit his passage; “where 
are the petticoats of the Delawares; let them send their 
arrows and their guns to the Wyandots; they shall have 
venison to eat, and corn to hoe. Dogs, rabbits, thieves — I 
spit on you!” 

His parting gibes were listened to in a dead, boding 
silence, and, with these biting words in his mouth, the tri- 
umphant Magua passed unmolested into the forest, followed 
by his passive captive, and protected by the inviolable laws 
of Indian hospitality. 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


391 


CHAPTER XXXI 

Flu.— Kill the poys and the luggage! ’tis expressly against the 
law of arms: ’tis as arrant a piece of knavery, mark you now, as can 
be offer’t. 

— King Henry. V. 

So long as their enemy and his victim continued in sight, 
the multitude remained motionless as beings charmed 
to the place by some power that was friendly to the Huron; 
but the instant he disappeared, it became tossed and agi- 
tated by fierce and powerful passion. Uncas maintained 
his elevated stand, keeping his eyes on the form of Cora 
until the colors of her dress were blended with the foliage 
of the forest, when he descended, and moving silently 
through the throng, he disappeared in that lodge from 
which he had so recently issued. A few of the graver and 
more attentive warriors, who caught the gleams of anger 
that shot from the ej^’es of the young chief in passing, 
followed him to the place he had selected for his medita- 
tions; after which, Tamenund and Alice were removed, and 
the women and children were ordered to disperse. During 
the momentous hour that succeeded, the encampment re- 
sembled a hive of troubled bees, who only awaited the ap- 
pearance and example of their leader to take some distant 
and momentous flight. 

A young warrior at length issued from the lodge of 
Uncas; and moving deliberately, with a sort of grave 
march, toward a dwarf pine that grew in the crevices of 
the rocky terrace, he tore the bark from its body, and 
then returned whence he came, without speaking. He was 
soon followed by another, who stripped the sapling of its 
branches, leaving it a naked and blazed^ trunk. A third 
colored the post with stripes of a dark red paint; all which 
indications of a hostile design in the leaders of the nation 
were received by the men without in a gloomy and ominous 

1 A tree which has been partially or entirely stripped of its bark is 
said, in the language of the country, to be “blazed.” The term is strictly 
English: for a horse Is said to be blazed when it has a white mark. 
[Cooper’s note.] 


392 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


silence. Finally, the Mohican himself reappeared, divested 
of all his attire except his girdle and leggings, and with one 
half of his fine features hid under a cloud of threaten- 
ing black. 

Uncas moved with a slow and dignified tread toward the 
post, which he immediately commenced encircling with a 
measured step, not unlike an ancient dance, raising his 
voice, at the same time, in the wild and irregular chant of 
his war-song. The notes were in the extremes of human 
sounds; being sometimes melancholy and exquisitely plain- 
tive, even rivalling the melody of birds; and then, by sud- 
den and startling transitions, causing the auditors to 
tremble by their depth and energy. The words were few 
and often repeated, proceeding gradually from a sort of 
invocation, or hymn to the Deity, to an intimation of the 
warrior’s object, and terminating as they commenced with 
an acknowledgment of his own dependence on the Great 
Spirit. If it were possible to translate the comprehensive 
and melodious language in which he spoke, the ode might 
read something like the following: — 


“Manitou! Manitou! Manitou! 

Thou art great, thou art good, thou art wise : 
Manitou! Manitou! 

Thou art just. 

“In the heavens, in the clouds, oh, I see 
Many spots— many dark, many red: 

In the heavens, oh, I see 
Many clouds. 

“In the woods, in the air, oh, I hear 
The whoop, the long yeU, and the cry: 

In the woods, oh, I hear 
The loud whoop! 

“Manitou! Manitou! Manitou! 

I am weak— thou art strong; I am slow: 
Manitou! Manitou! 

Give me aid.” 


At the end of what might be called each verse he made a 
pause, by raising a note louder and longer than common, 
that was peculiarly suited to the sentiment just expressed. 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


393 


The first close was solemn, and intended to convey the idea 
of veneration; the second descriptive, bordering on the 
alarming; and the third was the well-known and terrific 
war-whoop, which burst from the lips of the young warrior 
like a combination of all the frightful sounds of battle. 
The last was like the first, humble and imploring. Three 
times did he repeat this song, and as often did he encircle 
the post in his dance. 

At the close of the first turn, a grave and highly esteemed 
chief of the Lenape followed his example, singing words of 
his own, however, to music of a similar character. Warrior 
after warrior enlisted in the dance, until all of any renown 
and authority were numbered in its mazes. The spectacle 
now became wildly terrific; the fierce-looking and menacing 
visages of the chiefs receiving additional power from the 
appalling strains in which they mingled their guttural 
tones. Just then Uncas struck his tomahawk deep into 
the post, and raised his voice in a shout which might be 
termed his own battle-cry. The act announced that he had 
assumed the chief authority in the intended expedition. 

It was a signal that awakened all the slumbering pas- 
sions of a nation. A hundred youths, who had hitherto 
been restrained by the diflidence of their years, rushed in a 
frantic body on the fancied emblem of their enemy, and 
severed it asunder, splinter by splinter, until nothing re- 
mained of the trunk but its roots in the earth. During this 
moment of tumult, the most ruthless deeds of war were per- 
formed on the fragments of the tree, with as much apparent 
ferocity as if they were the living victims of their cruelty. 
Some were scalped; some received the keen and trembling 
axe, and others suffered by thrusts from the fatal knife. 
In short, the manifestations of zeal and fierce delight were 
so great and unequivocal that the expedition was declared 
to be a war of the nation. 

The instant Uncas had struck the blow he moved out of 
the circle and cast his eyes up to the sun, which was just 
gaining the point when the truce with Magua was to end. 
The fact was soon announced by a significant gesture, ac- 
companied by a corresponding cry; and the whole of the 


394 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


excited multitude abandoned their mimic warfare, with 
shrill yells of pleasure, to prepare for the more hazardous 
experiment of the reality. 

The whole face of the encampment was instantly 
changed. The warriors, who were already armed and 
painted, became as still as if they were incapable of any un- 
common burst of emotion. On the other hand, the women 
broke out of the lodges, with the songs of joy and those 
of lamentation so strangely mingled that it might have 
been difficult to have said which passion preponderated. 
None, however, were idle. Some bore their choicest arti- 
cles, others their young, and some their aged and infirm, 
into the forest, which spread itself like a verdant carpet 
of bright green against the side of the mountain. Thither 
Tamenund also retired, with calm composure, after a short 
and touching interview with Uncas; from whom the sage 
separated with the reluctance that a parent would quit a 
long lost and just recovered child. In the meantime, Dun- 
can saw Alice to a place of safety, and then sought the 
scout with a countenance that denoted how eagerly he also 
panted for the approaching contest. 

But Hawkeye was too much accustomed to the war-song 
and the enlistments of the natives to betray any interest in 
the passing scene. He merely cast an occasional look at 
the number and quality of the warriors who, from time to 
time, signified their readiness to accompany Uncas to the 
field. In this particular he was soon satisfied; for, as has 
been already seen, the power of the young chief quickly 
embraced every fighting man in the nation. After this ma- 
terial point was so satisfactorily decided, he despatched an 
Indian boy in quest of “Killdeer” and the rifie of Uncas, 
to the place where they had deposited the weapons on ap- 
proaching the camp of the Delawares; a measure of double 
policy, inasmuch as it protected the arms from their own 
fate, if detained as prisoners, and gave them the advantage 
of appearing among the strangers rather as sufferers than as 
men provided with the means of defense and subsistence. 
In selecting another to perform the oifice of reclaiming his 
highly prized rifie, the scout had lost sight of none of his 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


395 


habitual caution. He knew that Magua had not come un- 
attended, and he also knew that Huron spies watched the 
movements of their new enemies, along the whole boundary 
of the woods. It would, therefore, have been fatal to him- 
self to have attempted the experiment; a warrior would 
have fared no better; but the danger of a boy would not be 
likely to commence until after his object was discovered. 
When Heyward joined him, the scout was coolly awaiting 
the result of this experiment. 

The boy, who had been well instructed, and was suffi- 
ciently crafty, proceeded, with a bosom that was swelling 
with the pride of such a confidence, and all the hopes of 
young ambition, carelessly across the clearing to the wood, 
which he entered at a point at some little distance from the 
place where the guns were secreted. The instant, however, 
he was concealed by the foliage of the bushes, his dusky 
form was to be seen gliding, like that of a serpent, toward 
the desired treasure. He was successful; and in another 
moment he appeared flying across the narrow opening that 
skirted the base of the terrace on which the village stood, 
with the velocity of an arrow, and bearing a prize in each 
hand. He had actually gained the crags, and was leaping 
up their sides with incredible activity, when a shot from 
the woods showed how accurate had been the judgment of 
the scout. The boy answered it with a feeble but contemp- 
tuous shout; and immediately a second bullet was sent after 
him from another part of the cover. At the next instant he 
appeared on the level above, elevating his guns in triumph, 
while he moved with the air of a conqueror toward the 
renowned hunter who had honored him by so glorious a 
commission. 

Notwithstanding the lively interest Hawkeye had taken 
in the fate of his messenger, he received “Killdeer” with a 
satisfaction that, momentarily, drove all other recollections 
from his mind. After examining the piece with an intelli- 
gent eye, and opening and shutting the pan some ten or 
fifteen times, and trying sundry other equally important 
experiments on the lock, he turned to the boy, and de- 
manded, with great manifestations of kindness, if he was 


396 THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 

hurt. The urchin looked proudly up in his face, but made 
no reply. 

“Ah! I see, lad, the knaves have barked your arm!” 
added the scout, taking up the limb of the patient sufferer, 
across which a deep flesh wound had been made by one of 
the bullets; “but a little bruised alder will act like a charm. 
In the meantime I will wrap it in a badge of wampum! 
You have commenced the business of a warrior early, my 
brave boy, and are likely to bear a plenty of honorable scars 
to your grave. I know many young men that have taken 
scalps who cannot show such a mark as this. Go!” having 
bound up the arm; “you will be a chief!” 

The lad departed, prouder of his flowing blood than the 
vainest courtier could be of his blushing ribbon; and 
stalked among the fellows of his age, an object of general 
admiration and envy. 

But in a moment of so many serious and important 
duties, this single act of juvenile fortitude did not attract 
the general notice and commendation it would have re- 
ceived under milder auspices. It had, however, served to 
apprise the Delawares of the position and intentions of 
their enemies. Accordingly a party of adventurers, better 
suited to the task than the weak though spirited boy, was 
ordered to dislodge the skulkers. The duty was soon per- 
formed; for most of the Hurons retired of themselves when 
they found they had been discovered. The Delawares fol- 
lowed to a sufficient distance from their own encamp- 
ment, and then halted for orders, apprehensive of being led 
into an ambush. As both parties secreted themselves, the 
woods were again as still and quiet as a mild summer 
morning and deep solitude could render them. 

The calm but still impatient Uncas now collected his 
chiefs, and divided his power. He presented Hawkeye as a 
warrior often tried, and always found deserving of confi- 
dence. When he found his friend met with a favorable re- 
ception, he bestowed on him the command of twenty men, 
like himself active, skillful, and resolute. He gave the Del- 
awares to understand the rank of Heyward among the 
troops of the Yengeese, and then tendered to him a trust 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


397 


of equal authority. But Duncan declined the charge, profess- 
ing his readiness to serve as a volunteer by the side of the 
scout. After this disposition, the young Mohican appointed 
various native chiefs to fill the different situations of re- 
sponsibility, and, the time pressing, he gave forth the 
word to march. He was cheerfully but silently obeyed by 
more than two hundred men. 

Their entrance into the forest was perfectly unmolested; 
nor did they encounter any living objects that could either 
give the alarm or furnish the intelligence they needed, un- 
til they came upon the lairs of their own scouts. Here a 
halt was ordered, and the chiefs were assembled to hold a 
“whispering council.” 

At this meeting divers plans of operation were suggested, 
though none of a character to meet the wishes of their ar- 
dent leader. Had Uncas followed the promptings of his 
own inclinations, he would have led his followers to the 
charge without a moment’s delay, and put the confiict to 
the hazard of an instant issue; but such a course would 
have been in opposition to all the received practices and 
opinions of his countrymen. He was, therefore, fain to 
adopt a caution that in the present temper of his mind he 
execrated, and to listen to advice at which his fiery spirit 
chafed, under the vivid recollection of Cora’s danger and 
Magua’s insolence. 

After an unsatisfactory conference of many minutes, a 
solitary individual was seen advancing from the side of the 
enemy, with such apparent haste as to induce the belief he 
might be a messenger charged with pacific overtures. 
When within a hundred yards, however, of the cover be- 
hind 'Which the Delaware council had assembled, the 
stranger hesitated, appeared uncertain what course to take, 
and finally halted. All eyes were now turned on Uncas, 
as if seeking directions how to proceed. 

“Hawkeye,” said the young chief, in a low voice, “he 
must never speak to the Hurons again.” 

“His time has come,” said the laconic scout, thrusting 
the long barrel of his rifle through the leaves, and taking 
his deliberate and fatal aim. But instead of pulling the 


398 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


trigger he lowered the muzzle again, and indulged himself 
in a fit of his peculiar mirth. “I took the imp for a Mingo, 
as I’m a miserable sinner!” he said; “but when my eye 
ranged along his ribs for a place to get the bullet in — would 
you think it, Uncas? — I saw the musicianer’s blower;^ and 
so, after all, it is the man they call Gamut, whose death can 
profit no one, and whose life, if his tongue can do anything 
but sing, may be made serviceable to our own ends. If 
sounds have not lost their vartue. I’ll soon have a discourse 
with the honest fellow, and that in a voice he’ll find more 
agreeable than the speech of ‘Killdeer.’ ” 

So saying, Hawkeye laid aside his rifie; and crawling 
through the bushes until within hearing of David, he at- 
tempted to repeat the musical effort which had conducted 
himself, with so much safety and eclat, through the Huron 
encampment. The exquisite organs^ of Gamut could not 
readily be deceived (and, to say the truth, it would have 
been difficult for any other than Hawkeye to produce a sim- 
ilar noise); and consequently, having once before heard the 
sounds, he now knew whence they proceeded. The poor 
fellow appeared relieved from a state of great embarrass- 
ment; for, pursuing the direction of the voice — a task that 
to him was not much less arduous than it would have been 
to have gone up in the face of a battery — he soon discov- 
ered the hidden songster. 

“I wonder what the Hurons will think of that!” said 
the scout, laughing, as he took his companion by the arm, 
and urged him toward the rear. “If the knaves lie within 
ear-shot, they will say there are two non-compossers in- 
stead of one! But here 'we are safe,” he added, pointing to 
Uncas and his associates. “Now give us the history of the 
Mingo inventions in natural English, and without any ups 
and downs of voice.” 

David gazed about him at the fierce and wild-looking 
chiefs, in mute wonder; but, assured by the presence of 
faces that he knew, he soon rallied his faculties so far as to 
make an intelligent reply. 

1 Cooper seems to have forgotten the Incidents of page 338. 

2 ijvoiworkcd phrase. 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS, 


399 


“The heathen are abroad in goodly numbers,” said 
David, “and I fear, with evil intent. There has been much 
howling and ungodly revelry, together with such sounds as 
it is profanity to utter, in their habitations within the past 
hour; so much so, in truth, that I have fled to the Dela- 
wares in search of peace.” 

“Your ears might not have profited much by the ex- 
change, had you been quicker of foot,” returned the scout, 
a little dryly. “But let that be as it may; where are the 
Hurons?” 

“They lie hid in the forest, between this spot and their 
village, in such force that prudence would teach you in- 
stantly to return.” 

Uncas cast a glance along the range of trees which con- 
cealed his own band and mentioned the name of — 

“Magua?” 

“Is among them. He brought in the maiden that had 
sojourned with the Delawares, and, leaving her in the cave, 
has put himself, like a raging wolf, at the head of his sav- 
ages. I know not what has troubled his spirit so greatly!” 

“He has left her, you say, in the cave!” interrupted Hey- 
ward; “ ’tis well that we know its situation! May not 
something be done for her instant relief?” 

Uncas looked earnestly at the scout before he asked, — 

“What says Hawkeye?” 

“Give me my twenty rifles, and I will turn to the right, 
along the stream; and passing by the huts of the beaver, 
will join the sagamore and the colonel. You shall then 
hear the whoop from that quarter; with this wind one may 
easily send it a mile. Then, Uncas, do you drive in their 
front; when they come within range of our pieces, we will 
give them a blow that, I pledge the good name of an old 
frontiersman, shall make their line bend like an ashen 
bow. After which we will carry their village, and take 
the woman from the cave; when the affair may be finished 
with the tribe, according to a white man’s battle, by a blow 
and a victory, or, in the Indian fashion, with dodge and 
cover. There may be no great learning, major, in this plan, 
but with courage and patience it can all be done.” 


400 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


“I like it much,” cried Duncan, who saw the release of 
Cora was the primary object in the mind of the scout; “I 
like it much. Let it be instantly attempted.” 

After a short conference, the plan was matured, and ren- 
dered more intelligible to the several parties; the different 
signals were appointed, and the chiefs separated, each to his 
allotted station. 


CHAPTER XXXII 

But plagues shall spread and funeral fires increase. 

Till the great king, ■without a ransom paid, 

To her o'wn Chrysa send the black-eyed maid. 

—Pope’s Iliad. 

During the time Uncas was making this disposition of 
his forces, the woods were still, and, with the exception of 
those who had met in council, apparently as much unten- 
anted as when they came fresh from the hands of their 
Almighty Creator. The eye could range, in every direc- 
tion, through the long and shadowed vistas of the trees; but 
nowhere was any object to be seen that did not properly 
belong to the peaceful and slumbering scenery. Here and 
there a bird was heard fluttering among the branches of 
the beeches, and occasionally a squirrel dropped a nut, 
drawing the startled looks of the party, for a moment, to 
the place; but the instant the casual interruption ceased, 
the passing air was heard murmuring above their heads, 
along that verdant and undulating surface of forest which 
spread itself unbroken, unless by stream or lake, over such 
a vast region of country. Across the tract of wilderness 
which lay between the Delawares and the village of their 
enemies, it seemed as if the foot of man had never trodden, 
so breathing and deep was the silence in which it lay. But 
Hawkeye, whose duty led him foremost in the adventure, 
knew the character of those with whom he was about to 
contend too well to trust the treacherous quiet. 

When he saw his little band collected, the scout threw 
“Killdeer” into the hollow of his arm, and making a silent 
signal that he would be followed, he led them many rods 


THE EAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


4:01 


toward the rear, into the bed of a little brook which they 
had crossed in advancing. Here he halted; and after wait- 
ing for the whole of his grave and attentive warriors to 
close about him, he spoke in Delaware, demanding, — 

“Do any of my young men know whither this run will 
lead us?” 

A Delaware stretched forth a hand, with the two fingers 
separated, and, indicating the manner in which they were 
joined at the root, he answered, — 

“Before the sun could go his own length, the little water 
will be in the big.” Then he added, pointing in the direc- 
tion of the place he mentioned, “The two make enough for 
the beavers.” 

“I thought as much,” returned the scout, glancing his 
eye upward at the opening in the tree-tops, “from the 
course it takes, and the bearings of the mountains. Men, 
we will keep within the cover of its banks till we scent the 
Hurons.” 

His companions gave the usual brief exclamation of 
assent, but perceiving that their leader was about to lead 
the way in person, one or two made signs that all was not 
as it should be. Hawkeye, who comprehended their mean- 
ing glances, turned, and perceived that his party had been 
followed thus far by the singing-master. 

“Do you know, friend,” asked the scout gravely, and 
perhaps with a little of the pride of conscious deserving 
in his manner, “that this is a band of rangers chosen for 
the most desperate service, and put under the command 
of one who, though another might say it with better face, 
will not be apt to leave them idle? It may not be five, it 
cannot be thirty minutes before we tread on the body of a 
Huron, living or dead.” 

“Though not admonished of your intentions in words,” 
returned David, whose face was a little fiushed, and whose 
ordinarily quiet and unmeaning eyes glimmered with an 
expression of unusual fire, “your men have reminded me of 
the children of Jacob going out to battle against the She- 
chemites, for wickedly aspiring to wedlock with a woman 
of a race that was favored of the Lord. Now, I have jour- 
26 


402 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


neyed far, and sojourned much in good and evil with the 
maiden ye seek; and though not a man of war, with my 
loins girded and my sword sharpened, yet would I gladly 
strike a blow in her behalf.” 

The scout hesitated, as if weighing the chances of such 
a strange enlistment in his mind, before he answered, — 

“You know not the use of any we’pon. You carry no 
rifle; and believe me, what the Mingoes take they will 
freely give again.” 

“Though not a vaunting and bloodily disposed Goliath,” 
returned David, drawing a sling from beneath his particol- 
ored and uncouth attire, “I have not forgotten the example 
of the Jewish boy. With this ancient instrument of war 
have I practiced much in my youth, and peradventure the 
skill has not entirely departed from me.” 

“Ay!” said Hawkeye, considering the deer-skin thong 
and apron with a cold and discouraging eye; “the thing 
might do its work among arrows, or even knives; but these 
Mengwe have been furnished by the Frenchers with a good 
grooved barrel a man. However, it seems to be your gift to 
go unharmed amid fire; and as you have hitherto been 
favored — major, you have left your rifle at a cock; a single 
shot before the time would be just twenty scalps lost to no 
purpose — singer, you can follow; we may find use for you 
in the shoutings.” 

“I thank you, friend,” returned David, supplying him- 
self, like his royal namesake, from among the pebbles of the 
brook; “though not given to the desire to kill, had you 
sent me away my spirit would have been troubled.” 

“Remember,” added the scout, tapping his own head 
significantly on that spot where Gamut was yet sore, “we 
come to fight, and not to musickate. Until the general 
whoop is given, nothing speaks but the rifle.” 

David nodded, as much as to signify his acquiescence 
with the terms; and then Hawkeye, casting another obser- 
vant glance over his followers, made the signal to proceed. 

Their route lay, for the distance of a mile, along the bed 
of. the water-course. Though protected from any great 
danger of observation by the precipitous banks and the 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


403 


thick shrubbery which skirted the stream, no precaution 
known to an Indian attack was neglected. A warrior 
rather crawled than walked on each flank, so as to catch 
occasional glimpses into the forest; and every few minutes 
the band came to a halt, and listened for hostile sounds 
with an acuteness of organs that would be scarcely con- 
ceivable to a man in a less natural state. Their march 
was, however, unmolested, and they reached the point 
where the lesser stream was lost in the greater, without 
the smallest evidence that their progress had been noted. 
Here the scout again halted, to consult the signs of the 
forest. 

“We are likely to have a good day for a flght,” he said 
in English, addressing Heyward, and glancing his eyes up- 
ward at the clouds, which began to move in broad sheets 
across the Armament; “a bright sun and a glittering barrel 
are no friends to true sight. Everything is favorable; they 
have the wind, which will bring down their noises and their 
smoke too, no little matter in itself; whereas, with us it will 
be first a shot, and then a clear view. But here is an end of 
our cover; the beavers have had the range of this stream 
for hundreds of years, and what atween their food and their 
dams, there is, as you see, many a girdled stub, but few 
living trees.” 

Hawkeye had, in truth, in these few words, given no bad 
description of the prospect that now lay in their front. 
The brook was irregular in its width, sometimes shooting 
through narrow fissures in the rocks, and at others spread- 
ing over acres of bottom land, forming little areas that 
might be termed ponds. Everywhere along its banks were 
the mouldering relics of dead trees, in all the stages of 
decay, from those that groaned on their tottering trunks to 
such as had recently been robbed of those rugged coats 
that so mysteriously contain their principle of life. A few 
long, low, and moss-covered piles were scattered among 
them, like the memorials of a former and long-departed 
generation. 

All these minute particulars were noted by the scout, 
with a gravity and interest that they probably had never 


404 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


before attracted. He knew that the Huron encampment 
lay a short half-mile up the brook; and, with the character- 
istic anxiety of one who dreaded a hidden danger, he was 
greatly troubled at not finding the smallest trace of the 
presence of his enemy. Once or twice he felt induced to 
give the order for a rush, and to attempt the village by sur- 
prise; but his experience quickly admonished him of the 
danger of so useless an experiment. Then he listened in- 
tently, and with painful uncertainty, for the sounds of hos- 
tility in the quarter where Uncas was left; but nothing was 
audible except the sighing of the wind, that began to sweep 
over the bosom of the forest in gusts which threatened a 
tempest. At length, yielding rather to his unusual 'impa- 
tience than taking counsel from his knowledge, he deter- 
mined to bring matters to an issue by unmasking his force, 
and proceeding cautiously, but steadily, up the stream. 

The scout had stood, while making his observations, 
sheltered by a brake, and his companions still lay in the bed 
of the ravine, through which the smaller stream debouched; 
but on hearing his low, though intelligible signal, the whole 
party stole up the bank, like so many dark spectres, and 
silently arranged themselves around him. Pointing in the 
direction he wished to proceed, Hawkeye advanced, the 
band breaking off in single files, and following so accurately 
in his footsteps as to leave it, if we except Heyward and 
David, the trail of but a single man. 

The party was, however, scarcely uncovered, before a 
volley from a dozen rifies was heard in their rear; and a 
Delaware, leaping high into the air like a wounded deer, 
fell at his whole length, perfectly dead. 

“Ah! I feared some deviltry like this!” exclaimed the 
scout, in English; adding, with the quickness of thought, 
in his adopted tongue, “To cover, men, and charge!” 

The band dispersed at the word, and before Heyward had 
well recovered from his surprise, he found himself standing 
alone with David. Luckily, the Hurons had already fallen 
back, and he was safe from their fire. But this state of 
things was evidently to be of short continuance; for the 
scout set the example of pressing on their retreat by dis- 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 405 

charging his rifle, and darting from tree to tree as his 
enemy slowly yielded ground. 

It would seem that the assault had been made by a very 
small party of the Hurons, which, however, continued to 
increase in numbers, as it retired on its friends, until the 
return Are was very nearly, if not quite, equal to that 
maintained by the advancing Delawares. Heyward threw 
himself among the combatants, and imitating the necessary 
caution of his companions, he made quick discharges with 
his own rifle. The contest now grew warm and stationary. 
Few were injured, as both parties kept their bodies as much 
protected as possible by the trees; never, indeed, exposing 
any part of their persons except in the act of taking aim. 
But the chances were gradually growing unfavorable to 
Hawkeye and his band. The quick-sighted scout perceived 
his danger, without knowing how to remedy it. He saw it 
was more dangerous to retreat than to maintain his ground; 
while he found his enemy throwing out men on his flank, 
which rendered the task of keeping themselves covered so 
very difiicult to the Delawares as nearly to silence their Are. 
At this embarrassing moment, when they began to think 
the whole of the hostile tribe was gradually encircling 
them, they heard the yell of combatants and the rattling 
of arms, echoing under the arches of the wood at the place 
where Uncas was posted; a bottom which, in a manner, 
lay beneath the ground on which Hawkeye and his party 
were contending. 

The effects of this attack were instantaneous, and to the 
scout and his friends greatly relieving. It would seem that, 
while his own surprise had been anticipated, and had con- 
sequently failed, the enemy, in their turn, having been de- 
ceived in its object and in his numbers, had left too small a 
force to resist the impetuous onset of the young Mohican. 
This fact was doubly apparent by the rapid manner in 
which the battle in the forest rolled upward toward the 
village, and by an instant falling off in the number of their 
assailants, who rushed to assist in maintaining the front, 
and, as it now proved to be, the principal point of defense. 

Animating his followers by his voice and his own ex- 


406 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


ample, Hawkeye then gave the word to bear down upon 
their foes. The charge, in that rude species of warfare, 
consisted merely in pushing from cover to cover, nigher to 
the enemy; and in this manoeuvre he was instantly and suc- 
cessfully obeyed. The Hurons were compelled to with- 
draw, and the scene of the contest rapidly changed from the 
more open ground on which it had commenced to a spot 
where the assailed found a thicket to rest upon. Here the 
struggle was protracted, arduous, and seemingly of doubt- 
ful issue; the Delawares, though none of them fell, begin- 
ning to bleed freely, in consequence of the disadvantage at 
which they v/ere held. 

In this crisis, Hawkeye found means to get behind the 
same tree as that which served for a cover to Heyward; 
most of his own combatants being within call, a little on 
his right, where they maintained rapid, though fruitless, 
discharges on their sheltered enemies. 

“You are a young man, major,” said the scout, dropping 
the butt of “Killdeer” to the earth, and leaning on the 
barrel, a little fatigued with his previous industry; “and it 
may be your gift to lead armies at some future day ag’in 
these imps the Mingoes. You may here see the philosophy 
of an Indian fight. It consists mainly in a ready hand, a 
quick eye, and a good cover. Now, if you had a company 
of the Royal Americans here, in what manner would you 
set them to work in this business?” 

“The bayonet would make a road.” 

“Ay, there is white reason in what you say; but a man 
must ask himself, in this wilderness, how many lives he can 
spare. No — horse,”^ continued the scout, shaking his head, 
like one who mused, “horse, I am ashamed to say, must, 
sooner or later, decide these scrimmages. The brutes are 

1 The American forest admits of the passage of horse, there being 
little underbrush, and few tangled breaks. The plan of Hawkeye is 
the one which has always proved the most successful in the battles 
betw'een the whites and the Indians. Wayne, in his celebrated cam- 
paign on the Miami, received the fire of his enemies in line; and then 
causing his dragoons to wheel round his fianks, the Indians were 
driven from their covers before they had time to load. One of the 
most conspicuous of the chiefs who fought in the battle of Miami as- 
sured the writer that the red men could not fight the warriors with 
“long knives and leather-stockings”; meaning the dragoons with their 
sabres and boots. [Cooper’s note.] 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


407 


better than men, and to horse must we come at last. Put 
a shodden hoof on the moccasin of a redskin; and if his 
rifle be once emptied, he will never stop to load it again.” 

“This is a subject that might better be discussed at an- 
other time,” returned Heyward; “shall we charge?” 

“I see no contradiction to the gifts of any man in pass- 
ing his breathing spells in useful reflections,” the scout 
replied. “As to a rush, I little relish such a measure; for a 
scalp or two must be thrown away in the attempt. And 
yet,” he added, bending his head aside, to catch the sounds 
of the distant combat, “if we are to be of use to Uncas, 
these knaves in our front must be got rid of!” 

Then turning, with a prompt and decided air, he called 
aloud to his Indians in their own language. His words 
were answered by a shout; and at a given signal, each 
warrior made a swift movement around his particular tree. 
The sight of so many dark bodies, glancing before their 
eyes at the same instant, drew a hasty and consequently an 
ineffectual Are from the Hurons. Without stopping to 
breathe, the Delawares leaped in long bounds toward the 
wood, like so many panthers springing upon their prey. 
Hawkeye was in front, brandishing his terrible rifle, and 
animating his followers by his example. A few of the older 
and more cunning Hurons, who had not been deceived by 
the artiflce which had been practiced to draw their Are, now 
made a close and deadly discharge of their pieces, and justi- 
fied the apprehensions of the scout by felling three of his 
foremost warriors. But the shock was insufficient to repel 
the impetus of the charge. The Delawares broke into the 
cover with the ferocity of their natures, and swept away 
every trace of resistance by the fury of the onset. 

The combat endured only for an instant, hand to hand, 
and then the assailed yielded ground rapidly, until they 
reached the opposite margin of the thicket, where they 
clung to the cover with a sort of obstinacy that is so often 
witnessed in hunted brutes. At this critical moment, 
when the success of the struggle was again becoming doubt- 
ful, the crack of the rifle was heard behind the Hurons, and 
a bullet came whizzing from among some beaver lodges 


408 


THE LAST OE THE MOHICANS. 


which were situated in the clearing in their rear, and was 
followed by the fierce and appalling yell of the war-whoop. 

“There speaks the sagamore!” shouted Hawkey e, an- 
swering the cry with his own stentorian voice; “we have 
them now in face and back!” 

The effect on the Hurons was instantaneous. Discour- 
aged by an assault from a quarter that left them no oppor- 
tunity for cover, their warriors uttered a common yell of 
disappointment, and, breaking off in a body, they spread 
themselves across the opening, heedless of every considera- 
tion but flight. Many fell, in making the experiment, 
under the bullets and the blows of the pursuing Delawares. 

We shall not pause to detail the meeting between the 
scout and Chingachgook, or the more touching interview 
that Duncan held with Munro. A few brief and hurried 
words served to explain the state of things to both parties; 
and then Hawkeye, pointing out the sagamore to his band, 
resigned the chief authority into the hands of the Mohi- 
can chief. Chingachgook assumed the station to which his 
birth and experience gave him so distinguished a claim 
with the grave dignity that always gives force to the man- 
dates of a native warrior. Following the footsteps of the 
scout, he led the party back through the thicket, his men 
scalping the fallen Hurons, and secreting the bodies of 
their own dead, as they proceeded, until they gained a 
point where the former was content to make a halt. 

The warriors, who had breathed themselves freely in the 
preceding struggle, were now posted on a bit of level 
ground, sprinkled with trees in sufficient numbers to con- 
ceal them. The land fell away rather precipitately in front, 
and beneath their eyes stretched for several miles a nar- 
row, dark, and wooded vale. It was through this dense 
and dark forest that Uncas was still contending with the 
main body of the Hurons. 

The Mohican and his friends advanced to the brow of the 
hill, and listened, with practiced ears, to the sounds of the 
combat. A few birds hovered over the leafy bosom of the 
valley, frightened from their secluded nests; and here and 
there a light vapory cloud, which seemed already blending 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


409 


with the atmosphere, arose above the trees and indicated 
some spot where the struggle had been fierce and stationary. 

“The fight is coming up the ascent,” said Duncan, point- 
ing in the direction of a new explosion of firearms; “we 
are too much in the centre of their line to be effective.” 

“They will incline into the hollow, where the cover is 
thicker,” said the scout, “and that will leave us well on 
their fiank. Go, sagamore; you will hardly be in time to 
give the w^hoop, and lead on the young men. I will fight 
this scrimmage with warriors of my own color. You know 
me, Mohican; not a Huron of them all shall cross the swell, 
into your rear, without the notice of ‘Killdeer.’ ” 

The Indian chief paused another moment to consider the 
signs of the contest, which was now rolling rapidly up the 
ascent, a certain evidence that the Delawares triumphed; 
nor did he actually quit the place until admonished of 
the proximity of his friends, as well as enemies, by the 
bullets of the former, which began to patter among the 
dried leaves on the ground, like the bits of falling hail 
which precede the bursting of the tempest. Hawkeye and 
his three companions withdrew a few paces to a shelter, 
and awaited the issue with a calmness that nothing but 
gi*eat practice could impart in such a scene. 

It was not long before the reports of the rifles began to 
lose the echoes of the woods, and to sound like weapons 
discharged in the open air. Then a warrior appeared, 
here and there, driven to the skirts of the forest, and rally- 
ing as he entered the clearing, as at the piace where the 
final stand was to be made. These were soon joined by 
others, until a long line of swarthy figures was to be 
seen clinging to the cover with the obstinacy of desperation. 
Heyward began to grow impatient, and turned his eyes 
anxiously in the direction of Chingachgook. The chief was 
seated on a rock, with nothing visible but his calm visage, 
considering the spectacle with an eye as deliberate as if 
he were posted there merely to view the struggle. 

“The time is come for the Delaware to strike!” said 
Duncan. 

“Not so. not so,” returned the scout; “when he scents 


410 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


his friends, he will let them know that he is here. See, see; 
the knaves are getting in that clump of pines, like bees 
settling after their flight. By the Lord, a squaw might put 
a bullet into the centre of such a knot of dark skins!” 

At that instant the whoop was given, and a dozen Hurons 
fell by a discharge from Chingachgook and his band. The 
shout that followed was answered by a single war-cry from 
the forest, and a yell passed through the air that sounded as 
if a thousand throats were united in a common effort. The 
Hurons staggered, deserting the centre of their line, and 
Uncas issued from the forest through the opening they left, 
at the head of a hundred warriors. 

Waving his hands right and left, the young chief pointed 
out the enemy to his followers, who separated in pursuit. 
The war now divided, both wings of the broken Hurons 
seeking protection in the woods again, hotly pressed by the 
victorious warriors of the Lenape. A minute might have 
passed, but the sounds were already receding in different 
directions, and gradually losing their distinctness beneath 
the echoing arches of the woods. One little knot of 
Hurons, however, had disdained to seek a cover, and were 
retiring, like lions at bay, slowly and sullenly up the accliv- 
ity which Chingachgook and his band had just deserted, 
to mingle more closely in the fray. Magua was conspic- 
uous in this party, both by his flerce and savage mien, and 
by the air of haughty authority he yet maintained. 

In his eagerness to expedite the pursuit, Uncas had left 
himself nearly alone; but the moment his eyes caught the 
flgure of Le Subtil, every other consideration was forgotten. 
Raising his cry of battle, which recalled some six or seven 
warriors, and reckless of the disparity of their numbers, he 
rushed upon his enemy. Le Renard, who watched the 
movement, paused to receive him with secret joy. But at 
the moment when he thought the rashness of his impetuous 
young assailant had left him at his mercy, another shout 
was given, and La Longue Carabine was seen rushing to the 
rescue, attended by all his white associates. The Huron 
instantly turned, and commenced a rapid retreat up the 
ascent. 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


411 


There was no time for greetings or congratulations; for 
Uncas, though unconscious of the presence of his friends, 
continued the pursuit with the velocity of the wind. In 
vain Hawkeye called to him to respect the covers; the 
young Mohican braved the dangerous fire of his enemies, 
and soon compelled them to a flight as swift as his own 
headlong speed. It was fortunate that the race was of 
short continuance, and that the white men were much 
favored by their position, or the Delaware would soon 
have outstripped all his companions, and fallen a victim to 
his own temerity. But ere such a calamity could happen, 
the pursuers and pursued entered the Wyandot village, 
within striking distance of each other. 

Excited by the presence of their dwellings, and tired of 
the chase, the Hurons now made a stand, and fought 
around their council-lodge with the fury of despair. The 
onset and the issue were like the passage and destruction 
of a whirlwind. The tomahawk of Uncas, the blows of 
Hawkeye, and even the still nervous arm of Munro, were 
all busy for that passing moment, and the ground was 
quickly strewed with their enemies. Still Magua, though 
daring and much exposed, escaped from every effort 
against his life, with that sort of fabled protection that was 
made to overlook the fortunes of favored heroes in the 
legends of ancient poetry. Raising a yell that spoke vol- 
umes of anger and disappointment, the subtle chief, when 
he saw his comrades fallen, darted away from the place, 
attended by his two only surviving friends, leaving the 
Delawares engaged in stripping the dead of the bloody 
trophies of their victory. 

But Uncas, who had vainly sought him in the melee, 
bounded forward in pursuit, — Hawkeye, Heyward, and 
David still pressing on his footsteps. The utmost that the 
scout could effect was to keep the muzzle of his rifie a little 
in advance of his friend, to whom, however, it answered 
every purpose of a charmed shield. Once Magua appeared 
disposed to make another and a final effort to revenge his 
losses; but abandoning his intention as soon as demon- 
strated, he leaped into a thicket of bushes, through which 


41^ THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 

he was follow'ed by his enemies, and suddenly entered the 
mouth of the cave already known to the reader. Hawkeye, 
who had only forborne to fire in tenderness to Uncas, raised 
a shout of success, and proclaimed aloud that now they 
were certain of their game. The pursuers dashed into the 
long and narrow entrance in time to catch a glimpse of the 
retreating forms of the Hurons. Their passage through 
the natural galleries and subterraneous apartments of the 
cavern was preceded by the shrieks and cries of hundreds 
of women and children. The place, seen by its dim and 
uncertain light, appeared like the shades of the infernal 
regions, across which unhappy ghosts and savage demons 
were flitting in multitudes. 

Still Uncas kept his eye on Magua, as if life to him pos- 
sessed but a single object. Heyward and the scout still 
pressed on his rear, actuated, though possibly in a less 
degree, by a common feeling. But their way was becom- 
ing intricate, in those dark and gloomy passages, and the 
glimpses of the retiring warriors less distinct and frequent; 
and for a moment the trace was believed to be lost, when 
a white robe was seen fluttering in the further extremity of 
a passage that seemed to lead up the mountain. 

“ ’Tis Cora!” exclaimed Heyv/ard, in a voice in which 
horror and delight were wildly mingled. 

“Cora! Cora!” echoed Uncas, bending forward like a 
deer. 

“ ’Tis the maiden!” shouted the scout. “Courage, lady; 
we come! — we come!” 

The chase was renewed with a diligence rendered tenfold 
encouraging by this glimpse of the captive. But the way 
was rugged, broken, and in spots nearly impassable. Uncas 
abandoned his rifle, and leaped forward with headlong pre- 
cipitation. Heyward rashly imitated his example, though 
both were, a moment afterward, admonished of its mad- 
ness by hearing the bellowing of a piece that the Hurons 
found time to discharge down the passage in the rocks, the 
bullet from which even gave the young Mohican a slight 
wound. 

“We must close!” said the scout, passing his friends by 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


413 


a desperate leap; “the knaves will pick us all off at this 
distance; and see, they hold the maiden so as to shield 
themselves!” 

Though his words were unheeded, or rather unheard, his 
example was followed by his companions, who, by incredi- 
ble exertions, got near enough to the fugitives to perceive 
that Cora was borne along between the two warriors, while 
Magua prescribed the direction and manner of their flight. 
At this moment the forms of all four were strongly drawn 
against an opening in the sky, and they disappeared. 
Nearly frantic with disappointment, Uncas and Heyward 
increased efforts that already seemed superhuman, and 
they issued from the cavern on the side of the mountain 
in time to note the route of the pursued. The course 
lay up the ascent, and still continued hazardous and labo- 
rious. 

Encumbered by his rifle, and, perhaps, not sustained by 
so deep an interest in the captive as his companions, the 
scout suffered the latter to precede him a little, Uncas, in 
his turn, taking the lead of Heyward. In this manner 
rocks, precipices, and difficulties were surmounted in an 
incredibly short space, that at another time and under 
other circumstances would have been deemed almost in- 
superable. But the impetuous young men were rewarded 
by flnding that, encumbered with Cora, the Hurons were 
losing ground in the race. 

“Stay, dog of the Wyandots!” exclaimed Uncas, shak- 
ing his bright tomahawk at Magua; “a Delaware girl calls 
stay!” 

“I will go no further,” cried Cora, stopping unexpectedly 
on a ledge of rocks, that overhung a deep precipice, at no 
great distance from the summit of the mountain. “Kill 
me if thou wilt, detestable Huron; I will go no fur- 
ther.” 

The supporters of the maiden raised their ready toma- 
hawks with the Impious joy that fiends are thought to take 
In mischief, but Magua stayed the uplifted arms. The 
Huron chief, after casting the weapons he had wrested 
from his companions over the rock, drew his knife and 


414 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


turned to his captive with a look in which conflicting pas- 
sions flercely contended. 

“Woman,” he said, “choose; the wigwam or the knife of 
Le Subtil!” 

Cora regarded him not, but dropping on her knees, she 
raised her eyes and stretched her arms toward heaven, say- 
ing, in a meek and yet confiding voice, — 

“I am Thine! do with me as Thou seest best!” 

“Woman,” repeated Magua, hoarsely, and endeavoring 
in vain to catch a glance from her serene and beaming 
eye, “choose!” 

But Cora neither heard nor heeded his demand. The 
form of the Huron trembled in every fibre, and he raised 
his arm on high, but dropped it again with a bewildered 
air, like one who doubted. Once more he struggled with 
himself and lifted the keen weapon again; but just then a 
piercing cry was heard above them, and Uncas appeared, 
leaping frantically, from a fearful height, upon the ledge. 
Magua recoiled a step; and one of his assistants, profiting 
by the chance, sheathed his own knife in the bosom of 
Cora. 

The Huron sprang like a tiger on his offending and 
already retreating countryman, but the falling form of 
Uncas separated the unnatural combatants. Diverted from 
his object by this interruption, and maddened by the mur- 
der he had just witnessed, Magua buried his weapon in the 
back of the prostrate Delaware, uttering an unearthly 
shout as he committed the dastardly deed. But Uncas 
arose from the blow, as the wounded panther turns upon 
his foe, and struck the murderer of Cora to his feet, by an 
effort in which the last of his failing strength was expended. 
Then, with a stern and steady look, he turned to Le Subtil, 
and indicated, by the expression of his eye, all that he 
would do had not the power deserted him. The latter 
seized the nerveless arm of the unresisting Delaware, and 
passed his knife into his bosom three several times, before 
his victim, still keeping his gaze riveted on his enemy with 
a look of inextinguishable scorn, fell dead at his feet. 

“Mercy! mercy! Huron/’ cried Heyward, from above, 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 415 

in tones nearly choked by horror; “give mercy, and thou 
Shalt receive it!” 

Whirling the bloody knife up at the imploring youth, the 
victorious Magua uttered a cry so fierce, so wild, and yet so 
joyous, that it conveyed the sounds of savage triumph to 
the ears of those who fought in the valley, a thousand feet 
below. He was answered by a burst from the lips of the 
scout, whose tall person was just then seen moving swiftly 
toward him, along those dangerous crags, with steps as 
bold and reckless as if he possessed the power to move 
in air. But when the hunter reached the scene of the 
ruthless massacre, the ledge was tenanted only by the 
dead. 

His keen eye took a single look at the victims, and then 
shot its glances over the difficulties of the ascent in his 
front. A form stood at the brow of the mountain, on the 
very edge of the giddy height, with uplifted arms, in an 
awful attitude of menace. Without stopping to consider 
his person, the rifle of Hawkeye was raised; but a rock, 
which fell on the head of one of the fugitives below, ex- 
posed the indignant and glowing countenance of the honest 
Gamut. Then Magua issued from a crevice, and, stepping 
with calm indifference over the body of the last of his 
associates, he leaped a wide fissure, and ascended the rocks 
at a point where the arm of David could not reach him. A 
single bound would carry him to the brow of the precipice, 
and assure his safety. Before taking the leap, however, 
the Huron paused, and shaking his hand at the scout, he 
shouted, — 

“The pale faces are dogs! the Delawares women! Magua 
leaves them on the rocks, for the crows!” 

Laughing hoarsely, he made a desperate leap, and fell 
short of his mark, though his hand grasped a shrub on the 
verge of the height. The form of Hawkeye had crouched 
like a beast about to take its spring, and his frame trem- 
bled so violently with eagerness that the muzzle of the 
half-raised rifle played like a leaf fluttering in the wind. 
Without exhausting himself with fruitless efforts, the cun- 
ning Magua suffered his body to drop to the length of his 


416 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


arms, and found a fragment for his feet to rest on. Then, 
summoning all his powers, he renewed the attempt, and so 
far succeeded as to draw his knees on the edge of the moun- 
tain. It was now, when the body of his enemy was most 
collected together, that the agitated weapon of the scout 
was drawn to his shoulder. The surrounding rocks them- 
selves were not steadier than the piece became, for the 
single instant that it poured out its contents. The arms of 
the Huron relaxed, and his body fell back a little, while his 
knees still kept their position. Turning a relentless look 
on his enemy, he shook a hand in grim defiance. But his 
hold loosened, and his dark person was seen cutting the 
air with its head downwards, for a fieeting instant, until it 
glided past the fringe of shrubbery which clung to the 
mountain, in its rapid fiight to destruction. 


CHAPTER XXXIII 

They fought, like brave meu, long and well, 

They piled that ground with Moslem slain. 

They conquered — but Bozzaris fell. 

Bleeding at every vein. 

His few surviving comrades saw 

His smile when rang their proud hurrah. 

And the red field was won; 

Then saw in death his eyelids close 
Calmly, as to a night’s repose, 

Like fiowers at set of sun. — Halleck. 

The sun found the Lenape, on the succeeding day, a 
nation of mourners. The sounds of the battle were over, 
and they had fed fat their ancient grudge, and had avenged 
their recent quarrel with the Mengwe, by the destruction 
of a whole community. The black and murky atmosphere 
that floated around the spot where the Hurons had en- 
camped sufficiently announced, of itself, the fate of that 
wandering tribe; while hundreds of ravens, that struggled 
above the bleak summits of the mountains, or swept in 
noisy flocks across the wide ranges of the woods, furnished 
a frightful direction to the scene of the combat. In short. 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


417 


any eye at all practiced in the signs of a frontier warfare 
might easily have traced all those unerring evidences of 
the ruthless results which attend an Indian vengeance. 

Still, the sun rose on the Lenape a nation of mourners. 
No shouts of success, no songs of triumph, were heard, in 
rejoicings for their victory. The latest straggler had re- 
turned from his fell employment only to strip himself of 
the terrific emblems of his bloody calling, and to join in the 
lamentations of his countrymen, as a stricken people. 
Pride and exultation were supplanted by humility, and the 
fiercest of human passions was already succeeded by the 
most profound and unequivocal demonstrations of grief. 

The lodges were deserted; but a broad belt of earnest 
faces encircled a spot in their vicinity, whither everything 
possessing life had repaired, and where all were now col- 
lected, in deep and awful silence. Though beings of every 
rank and age, of both sexes and of all pursuits, had united 
to form this breathing wall of bodies, they were influenced 
by a single emotion. Each eye was riveted on the centre 
of that ring which contained the objects of so much, and 
of so common an interest. 

Six Delaware girls, with their long, dark, flowing tresses 
falling loosely across their bosoms, stood apart, and only 
gave proofs of their existence as they occasionally strewed 
sweet-scented herbs and forest flowers on a litter of fragrant 
plants, that, under a pall of Indian robes, supported all 
that now remained of the ardent, high-souled, and generous 
Cora. Her form was concealed in many wrappers of the 
same simple manufacture, and her face was shut forever 
from the gaze of men. At her feet was seated the desolate 
Munro. His aged head was bowed nearly to the earth, in 
compelled submission to the stroke of Providence; but a 
hidden anguish struggled about his furrowed brow, that 
was only partially concealed by the careless locks of gray 
that had fallen, neglected, on his temples. Gamut stood 
at his side, his meek head bared to the rays of the sun, 
while his eyes, wandering and concerned, seemed to be 
equally divided between that little volume which contained 
so many quaint but holy maxims and the being in whose 
27 


418 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


behalf his soul yearned to administer consolation. Hey- 
ward was also’ nigh, supporting himself against a tree, and 
endeavoring to keep down those sudden risings of sorrow 
that it required his utmost manhood to subdue. 

But sad and melancholy as this group may easily be 
imagined, it was far less touching than another that occu- 
pied the opposite space of the same area. Seated, as in life, 
with his form and limbs arranged in grave and decent com- 
posure, Uncas appeared, arrayed in the most gorgeous orna- 
ments that the wealth of the tribe could furnish. Rich 
plumes nodded above his head; wampum, gorgets, bracelets, 
and medals adorned his person in profusion; though his 
dull eye and vacant lineaments too strongly contradicted 
the idle tale of pride they would convey. 

Directly in front of the corpse Chingachgook was placed, 
without arms, paint, or adornment of any sort, except the 
bright blue blazonry of his race, that was indelibly im- 
pressed on his naked bosom. During the long period that 
the tribe had been thus collected, the Mohican warrior had 
kept a steady, anxious look on the cold and senseless counte- 
nance of his son. So riveted and intense had been that 
gaze, and so changeless his attitude, that a stranger might 
not have told the living from the dead but for the occa- 
sional gleamings of a troubled spirit that shot athwart the 
dark visage of one, and a death-like calm that had for- 
ever settled on the lineaments of the other. 

The scout was hard by, leaning in a pensive posture on 
his own fatal and avenging weapon; while Tamenund, sup- 
ported by the elders of his nation, occupied a high place 
at hand, whence he might look down on the mute and 
sorrowful assemblage of his people. 

Just within the inner edge of the circle stood a soldier, in 
the military attire of a strange nation; and without it was 
his war-horse, in the centre of a collection of mounted 
domestics, seemingly in readiness to undertake some distant 
journey. The vestments of the stranger announced him to 
be one who held a responsible situation near the person of 
the captain of the Canadas; and who, as it would now seem, 
finding his errand of peace frustrated by the fierce impetu- 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


419 


osity of his allies, was content to become a silent and sad 
spectator of the fruits of a contest that he had arrived too 
late to anticipate. 

The day was drawing to the close of its first quarter, and 
yet had the multitude maintained its breathing stillness 
since its dawn. No sound louder than a stified sob had 
been heard among them, nor had even a limb been moved 
throughout that long and painful period, except to perform 
the simple and touching offerings that were made, from 
time to time, in commemoration of the dead. The patience 
and forbearance of Indian fortitude could alone support 
such an appearance of abstraction as seemed now to have 
turned each dark and motionless figure into stone. 

At length the sage of the Delawares stretched forth an 
arm, and, leaning on the shoulders of his attendants, he 
arose with an air as feeble as if another age had already 
intervened between the man who had met his nation the 
preceding day and him who now tottered on his elevated 
stand. 

“Men of the Lenape!” he said, in hollow tones that 
sounded like a voice charged with some prophetic mission, 
“the face of the Manitou is behind a cloud! his eye is 
turned from you; his ears are shut; his tongue gives no 
answer. You see him not; yet his judgments are before 
you. Let your hearts be open and your spirits tell no lie. 
Men of the Lenape! the face of the Manitou is behind a 
cloud!” 

As this simple yet terrible annunciation stole on the 
ears of the multitude, a stillness as deep and awful suc- 
ceeded as if the venerated spirit they worshipped had 
uttered the words without the aid of human organs; and 
even the inanimate Uncas appeared a being of life, com- 
pared with the humbled and submissive throng by whom 
he was surrounded. As the immediate effect, however, 
gradually passed away, a low murmur of voices commenced 
a sort of chant in honor of the dead. The sounds were 
those of females, and were thrillingly soft and wailing. 
The words were connected by no regular continuation, 
but as one ceased another took up the eulogy, or lamenta- 


420 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


tion, whichever it might be called, and gave vent to her 
emotions in such language as was suggested by her feelings 
and the occasion. At intervals the speaker was inter- 
rupted by general and loud bursts of sorrow, during which 
the girls around the bier of Cora plucked the plants and 
flowers blindly from her body, as if bewildered with grief. 
But, in the milder moments of their plaint, these emblems 
of purity and sweetness were cast back to their places, with 
every sign of tenderness and regret. Though rendered less 
connected by many and general interruptions and out- 
breakings, a translation of their language would have con- 
tained a regular descant, which, in substance, might have 
proved to possess a train of consecutive ideas. 

A girl, selected for the task by her rank and qualifica- 
tions, commenced by modest allusions to the qualities of the 
deceased w^arrior, embellishing her expressions with those 
oriental images that the Indians have probably brought 
with them from the extremes of the other continent, and 
which form of themselves a link to connect the ancient his- 
tories of the two worlds. She called him the “panther 
of his tribe;” and described him as one whose moccasin 
left no trail on the dews; whose bound was like the leap of 
the young fawn; whose eye was brighter than a star in the 
dark night; and whose voice, in battle, was loud as the 
thunder of the Manitou. She reminded him of the mother 
who bore him, and dwelt forcibly on the happiness she 
must feel in possessing such a son. She bade him tell her, 
when they met in the world of spirits, that the Delaware 
girls had shed tears above the grave of her child, and had 
called her blessed. 

Then they who succeeded, changing their tones to a 
milder and still more tender strain, alluded, with the deli- 
cacy and sensitiveness of woman, to the stranger maiden 
who had left the upper earth at a time so near his own de- 
parture as to render the will of the Great Spirit too manifest 
to be disregarded. They admonished him to be kind to her, 
and to have consideration for her ignorance of those arts 
which were so necessary to the comfort of a warrior like 
himself. They dwelt upon her matchless beauty, and on 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


421 


her noble resolution, without the taint of envy, and as 
angels may be thought to delight in a superior excellence; 
adding, that these endowments should prove more than 
equivalent for any little imperfections in her education. 

After which, others again, in due succession, spoke to the 
maiden herself, in the low, soft language of tenderness and 
love. They exhorted her to be of cheerful mind, and to 
fear nothing for her future welfare. A hunter would be 
her companion, who knew how to provide for her smallest 
wants; and a warrior was at her side who was able to pro- 
tect her against every danger. They promised that her 
path should be pleasant and her burden light. They 
cautioned her against unavailing regrets for the friends of 
her youth, and the scenes where her fathers had dwelt; 
assuring her that the “blessed hunting-grounds of the 
Lenape” contained vales as pleasant, streams as pure, and 
flowers as sweet, as the “heaven of the pale faces.” They 
advised her to be attentive to the wants of her companion, 
and never to forget the distinction which the Manitou had 
so wisely established between them. Then, in a wild burst 
of their chant, they sang with united voices the temper 
of the Mohican’s mind. They pronounced him noble, 
manly, and generous; all that became a warrior, and all 
that a maid might love. Clothing their ideas in the most 
remote and subtle images, they betrayed that in the short 
period of their intercourse they had discovered, with the 
intuitive perception of their sex, the truant disposition of 
his inclinations. The Delaware girls had found no favor 
in his eyes. He was of a race that had once been lords on 
the shores of the salt lake, and his wishes had led him back 
to a people who dwelt about the graves of his fathers. Why 
should not such a predilection be encouraged? That she 
was of a blood purer and richer than the rest of her nation 
any eye might have seen; that she was equal to the dangers 
and daring of a life in the woods her conduct had proved; 
and now, they added, the “wise one of the earth” had 
transplanted her to a place where she would find congenial 
spirits, and might be forever happy. 

Then, with another transition in voice and subject, allu- 


422 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


sions were made to the virgin who wept in the adjacent 
lodge. They compared her to flakes of snow; as pure, as 
white, as brilliant, and as liable to melt in the flerce heats of 
summer, or congeal in the frosts of winter. They doubted 
not that she was lovely in the eyes of the young chief whose 
skin and whose sorrow seemed so like her own; but, though 
far from expressing such a preference, it was evident they 
deemed her less excellent than the maid they mourned. 
Still they denied her no meed her rare charms might prop- 
erly claim. Her ringlets were compared to the exuberant 
tendrils of the vine; her eye to the blue vault of the heav- 
ens; and the most spotless cloud, with its growing flush of 
the sun, was admitted to be less attractive than her bloom. 

During these and similar songs nothing was audible but 
the murmurs of the music, relieved as it was, or rather 
rendered terrible, by those occasional bursts of grief which 
might be called its choruses. The Delawares themselves 
listened like charmed men; and it was very apparent, by the 
variations of their speaking countenances, how deep and 
true was their sympathy. Even David was not reluctant to 
lend his ears to tones of voices so sweet; and long ere 
the chant was ended, his gaze announced that his soul was 
enthralled. 

The scout, to whom alone, of all the white men, the 
words were intelligible, suffered himself to be a little 
aroused from his meditative posture, and bent his face 
aside to catch their meaning, as the girls proceeded. But 
when they spoke of the future prospects of Cora and Uncas 
he shook his head, like one who knew the error of their 
simple creed, and, resuming his reclining attitude, he main- 
tained it until the ceremony — if that might be called a 
ceremony in which feeling was so deeply imbued — was fln- 
ished. Happily for the self-command of both Heyward 
and Munro, they knew not the meaning of the wild sounds 
they heard. 

Chingachgook was a solitary exception to the interest 
manifested by the native part of the audience. His look 
never changed throughout the whole of the scene, nor did 
a muscle move in his rigid countenance, even at the wildest 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


423 


or the most pathetic parts of the lamentation. The cold 
and senseless remains of his son was^ all to him, and every 
other sense but that of sight seemed frozen, in order that 
his eyes might take their final gaze at those lineaments he 
had so long loved, and which were now about to be closed 
forever from his view. 

In this stage of the funeral obsequies a warrior much re- 
nowned for deeds in arms, and more especially for services 
in the recent combat, a man of stern and grave demeanor, 
advanced slowly from the crowd, and placed himself nigh 
the person of the dead. 

“Why hast thou left us, pride of the Wapanachki?” he 
said, addressing himself to the dull ears of Uncas, as if the 
empty clay retained the faculties of the animated man; 
“thy time has been like that of the sun when in the trees; 
thy glory brighter than his light at noonday. Thou art 
gone, youthful warrior, but a hundred Wyandots are clear- 
ing the briers from thy path to the world of spirits. Who 
that saw thee in battle would believe that thou couldst die? 
Who before thee has ever shown Uttawa the way into the 
fight? Thy feet were like the wings of eagles; thine arm 
heavier than falling branches from the pine; and thy voice 
like the Manitou when he speaks in the clouds. The 
tongue of Uttawa is weak,” he added, looking about him 
with a melancholy gaze, “and his heart exceeding heavy. 
Pride of the Wapanachki, why hast thou left us?” 

He was succeeded by others, in due order, until most of 
the high and gifted men of the nation had sung or spoken 
their tribute of praise over the manes of the deceased chief. 
When each had ended, another deep and breathing silence 
reigned in all the place. 

Then a low, deep sound was heard, like the suppressed 
accompaniment of distant music, rising just high enough 
on the air to be audible, and yet so indistinctly as to leave 
its character, and the place whence it proceeded, alike 
matters of conjecture. It was, however, succeeded by an- 
other and another strain, each in a higher key, until they 
grew on the ear, first in long drawn and often repeated 

^Should “was” be “were”? 


424 


THE LAST OP THE MOHICANS. 


interjections, and finally in words. The lips of Chingach- 
gook had so far parted as to announce that it was the 
monody of the father. Though not an eye was turned 
toward him, nor the smallest sign of impatience exhibited, 
it was apparent, by the manner in which the multitude 
elevated their heads to listen, that they drank in the sounds 
with an intenseness of attention that none but Tamenund 
himself had ever before commanded. But they listened 
in vain. The strains rose just so loud as to become in- 
telligible, and then grew fainter and more trembling, until 
they finally sank on the ear as if borne away by a passing 
breath of wind. The lips of the sagamore closed, and he 
remained silent in his seat, looking, with his riveted eye and 
motionless form, like some creature that had been turned 
from the Almighty hand with the form but without the 
spirit of a man. The Delawares, who knew by these symp- 
toms that the mind of their friend was not prepared for 
so mighty an effort of fortitude, relaxed in their attention; 
and, with an innate delicacy, seemed to bestow all their 
thoughts on the obsequies of the stranger maiden. 

A signal was given, by one of the elder chiefs, to the 
women who crowded that part of the circle near which the 
body of Cora lay. Obedient to the sign, the girls raised the 
bier to the elevation of their heads, and advanced with slow 
and regulated steps, chanting, as they proceeded, another 
wailing song in praise of the deceased. Gamut, who had 
been a close observer of rites he deemed so heathenish, now 
bent his head over the shoulder of the unconscious father, 
whispering, — 

“They move with the remains of thy child; shall we not 
follow, and see them interred with Christian burial?” 

Mimro started, as if the last trumpet had sounded in his 
ear, and bestowing one anxious and hurried glance around 
him, he arose and followed in the simple train, with the 
mien of a soldier, but bearing the full burden of a parent’s 
suffering. His friends pressed around him with a sorrow 
that was too strong to be termed sympathy — even the young 
Frenchman joining in the procession, with the air of a man 
who was sensibly touched at the early and melancholy fat® 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


425 


of one so lovely. But when the last and humblest female 
of the tribe had joined in the wild and yet ordered array, 
the men of the Lenape contracted their circle, and formed 
again around the person of Uncas, as silent, as grave, and as 
motionless as before. 

The place which had been chosen for the grave of Cora 
was a little knoll, where a cluster of young and healthful 
pines had taken root, forming of themselves a melancholy 
and appropriate shade over the spot. On reaching it the 
girls deposited their burden, and continued for many 
minutes waiting, with characteristic patience and native 
timidity, for some evidence that they whose feelings were 
most concerned were content with the arrangement. At 
length the scout, who alone understood their habits, said, 
in their own language, — 

“My daughters have done well; the white men thank 
them.” 

Satisfied with this testimony in their favor, the girls pro- 
ceeded to deposit the body in a shell, ingeniously and not 
inelegantly fabricated of the bark of the birch; after which 
they lowered it into its dark and final abode. The ceremony 
of covering the remains, and concealing the marks of the 
fresh earth by leaves and other natural and customary ob- 
jects, was conducted with the same simple and silent forms. 
But when the labors of the kind beings who had performed 
these sad and friendly offices were so far completed, they 
hesitated, in a way to show that they knew not how much 
further they might proceed. It was in this stage of the 
rites that the scout again addressed them: — 

“My young women have done enough,” he said; “the 
spirit of a pale face has no need of food or raiment, their 
gifts being according to the heaven of their color. I see,” 
he added, glancing an eye at David, who was preparing his 
book in a manner that indicated an intention to lead the 
way in sacred song, “that one who better knows the 
Christian fashions is about to speak.” 

The females stood modestly aside, and, from having been 
the principal actors in the scene, they now became the meek 
and attentive observers of that which followed. During the 


42G 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


time David was occupied in pouring out the pious feelings 
of his spirit in this manner, not a sign of surprise nor a look 
of impatience escaped them. They listened like those who 
knew the meaning of the strange words, and appeared as if 
they felt the mingled emotions of sorrow, hope, and resigna- 
tion they were intended to convey. 

Excited by the scene he had just witnessed, and perhaps 
influenced by his own secret emotions, the master of song 
exceeded his usual efforts. His full, rich voice was not 
found to suffer by a comparison with the soft tones of the 
girls; and his more modulated strains possessed, at least for 
the ears of those to whom they were peculiarly addressed, 
the additional power of intelligence. He ended the anthem, 
as he had commenced it, in the midst of a grave and solemn 
stillness. 

When, however, the closing cadence had fallen on the 
ears of his auditors, the secret, timorous glances of the 
eyes, and the general and yet subdued movement of the 
assemblage, betrayed that something was expected from 
the father of the deceased. Munro seemed sensible that 
the time was come for him to exert what is, perhaps, the 
greatest effort of which human nature is capable. He 
bared his gray locks, and looked around the timid and 
quiet throng by which he was encircled with a Arm and 
collected countenance. Then motioning with his hand 
for the scout to listen, he said, — 

“Say to these kind and gentle females that a heart- 
broken and failing man returns them his thanks. Tell 
them, that the Being we all worship, under different names, 
will be mindful of their charity; and that the time shall 
not be distant when we may assemble around his throne 
without distinction of sex, or rank, or color.” 

The scout listened to the tremulous voice in which the 
veteran delivered these words, and shook his head slowly 
when they were ended, as one who doubted their efficacy. 

“To tell them this,” he said, “would be to tell them that 
the snows come not in the winter, or that the sun shines 
fiercest when the trees are stripped of their leaves.” 

Then turning to the women, he made such a communica- 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. ’ 


427 


tion of the other’s gratitude as he deemed most suited to 
the capacities of his listeners.' The head of Munro had 
already sunk upon his chest, and he was again fast relaps- 
ing into melancholy, when the young Frenchman before 
named ventured to touch him lightly on the elbow. As 
soon as he had gained the attention of the mourning old 
man, he pointed toward a group of young Indians, who 
approached with a light but closely covered litter, and then 
pointed upward toward the sun. 

“I understand you, sir,” returned Munro, with a voice 
of forced firmness; “I understand you. It is the will of 
Heaven, and I submit. Cora, my child! if the prayers of 
a heartbroken father could avail thee now, how blessed 
shouldst thou be! Come, gentlemen,” he added, looking 
about him with an air of lofty composure, though the 
anguish that quivered in his faded countenance was far too 
powerful to be concealed, “our duty here is ended; let us 
depart.” 

Heyward gladly obeyed a summons that took them 
from a spot where, each instant, he felt his self-control was 
about to desert him. While his companions were mount- 
ing, however, he found time to press the hand of the scout, 
and to repeat the terms of an engagement they had made, 
to meet again within the posts of the British army. Then, 
gladly throwing himself into the saddle, he spurred his 
charger to the side of the litter, whence low and stified sobs 
alone announced the presence of Alice. In this manner, 
the head of Munro again dropping on his bosom, with 
Heyward and David following in sorrowing silence, and 
attended by the aide of Montcalm with his guard, all the 
white men, with the exception of Hawkeye, passed from 
before the eyes of the Delawares, and were soon buried in 
the vast forests of that region. 

But the tie which, through their common calamity, had 
united the feelings of these simple dwellers in the woods 
with the strangers who had thus transiently visited them 
was not so easily broken. Years passed away before the 
traditionary tale of the white maiden and of the young war- 
rior of the Mohicans ceased to beguile the long nights and 


428 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


tedious marches, or to animate their youthful and brave 
with a desire for vengeance. Neither were the secondary 
actors in these momentous incidents forgotten. Through 
the medium of the scout, who served for years afterward 
as a link between them and civilized life, they learned, in 
answer to their inquiries, that the “Gray Head” was 
speedily gathered to his fathers — borne down, as was 
erroneously believed, by his military misfortunes; and that 
the “Open Hand” had conveyed his surviving daughter 
far into the settlements of the “pale faces,” where her 
tears had at last ceased to flow, and had been succeeded by 
the bright smiles which were better suited to her joyous 
nature. 

But these were events of a time later than that which 
concerns our tale. Deserted by all of his color, Hawkeye 
returned to the spot where his own sympathies led him, 
with a force that no ideal bond of union could bestow. He 
was just in time to catch a parting look of the features of 
Uncas, whom the Delawares were already enclosing in his 
last vestments of skins. They paused to permit the longing 
and lingering gaze of the sturdy woodsman, and when it 
was ended, the body was enveloped, never to be unclosed 
again. Then came a procession like the other, and the 
whole nation was collected about the temporary grave of 
the chief — temporary, because it was proper that, at some 
future day, his bones should rest among those of his own 
people. 

The movement, like the feeling, had been simultaneous 
and general. The same grave expression of grief, the 
same rigid silence, and the same deference to the principal 
mourner were observed around the place of interment as 
have been already described. The body was deposited in 
an attitude of repose, facing the rising sun, with the imple- 
ments of war and of the chase at hand, in readiness for the 
flnal journey. An opening was left in the shell, by which 
it was protected from the soil, for the spirit to communicate 
with its earthly tenement, when necessary; and the whole 
was concealed from the instinct, and protected from the 
ravages, of the beasts of prey with an ingenuity peculiar to 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


429 


the natives. The manual rites then ceased, and all present 
reverted to the more spiritual part of the ceremonies. 

Chingachgook became once more the object of the com- 
mon attention. He had not yet spoken, and something 
consolatory and instructive was expected from so renowned 
a chief on an occasion of such interest. Conscious of the 
wishes of the people, the stern and self-restrained warrior 
raised his face, which had latterly been buried in his robe, 
and looked about him with a steady eye. His firmly com- 
pressed and expressive lips then severed, and for the first 
time during the long ceremonies his voice was distinctly 
audible. 

“Why do my brothers mourn?” he said, regarding the 
dark race of dejected warriors by whom he was environed; 
“why do my daughters weep? that a young man has gone 
to the happy hunting-grounds! that a chief has filled his 
time with honor! He was good; he was dutiful; he was 
brave. Who can deny it? The Manitou had need of such 
a warrior, and he has called him away. As for me, the son 
and the father of Uncas, I am a blazed pine in a clearing 
of the pale faces. My race has gone from the shores of 
the salt lake, and the hills of the Delawares. But who 
can say that the Serpent of his tribe has forgotten his wis- 
dom? I am alone — ” 

“No, no,” cried Hawkeye, who had been gazing with a 
yearning look at the rigid features of his friend, with some- 
thing like his own self-command, but whose philosophy 
could endure no longer; “no sagamore, not alone. The 
gifts of our colors may be different, but God has so placed 
us as to journey in the same path. I have no kin, and I 
may also say, like you, no people. He was your son, and a 
redskin by nature; and it may be that your blood was nearer 
— but if I ever forget the lad who has so often fou’t at my 
side in war, and slept at my side in peace, may He who 
made us all, whatever may be our color or our gifts, forget 
me! The boy has left us for a time; but, sagamore, you 
are not alone!” 

Chingachgook grasped the hand that, in the warmth of 
feeling, the scout had stretched across the fresh earth, and 


430 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. 


in that attitude of friendship these two sturdy and intrepid 
woodsmen bowed their heads together, while scalding tears 
fell to their feet, watering the grave of Uncas like drops 
of falling rain. 

In the midst of the awful stillness with which such a 
burst of feeling, coming, as it did, from the two most re- 
nowned warriors of that region, was received, Tamenund 
lifted his voice to disperse the multitude. 

“It is enough," he said. “Go, children of the Lenape, 
the anger of the Manitou is not done. Why should Tame- 
nund stay? The pale faces are masters of the earth, and 
the time of the redmen has not yet come again. My day 
has been too long. In the morning I saw the sons of 
Unamis happy and strong; and yet, before the night has 
come, have I lived to see the last warrior of the wise race 
of the Mohicans!" 


THE END. 



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